


A Different Morn

by ProphetessMinty



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Anxiety, Character Study, Character building, Eris has issues and we will explore them, F/M, Guilt, Hunter Vanguard problems, Love Pyramids...no one has time for triangles anymore, Memento mori, Morality | Good vs Evil, Promoting psychological help, Protective Guardian, Psychological Trauma, Pyramid Ships, Saint-14 loves his bords, Season of Arrivals, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, feels trip, maybe...?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProphetessMinty/pseuds/ProphetessMinty
Summary: All this time, Eris has remained vigilant, observing the many harbingers that foretell the coming of a great deceiver. Despite the last ditch efforts of the Cabal that resulted in The Almighty crashing to Earth, Humanity was able to ward off another cataclysmic annihilation.But only just.From bad to worse, an age-old enemy has finally resurfaced, making its presence known from the shadows. Rasputin has attempted to defend its home across the system at the expense of itself. With the Warframe in pieces and the scattered Hive remnants regrouping, there is an ominous fervor in their scheming.The Pyramid Ships are approaching on the winds of arrival, yet the Consensus and the Vanguard are focused on other matters. Eris has tried to reason with them, but The Guardian is all Eris has left. Desperate times call for desperate measures.Get ready. Savathûn is watching. Get set. Eris is preparing. Go! The Taken Queen is already here.
Relationships: Eris Morn & The Drifter, The Guardian & Eris Morn
Comments: 15
Kudos: 26





	1. Effigy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Bungie. 
> 
> A/N: Eris Morn is one of my favorite side characters in Destiny and I realized I haven’t written anything about her yet. My brain finally came up with an idea after I woke up this morning. Sooooo, here we are. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eris Morn is the woman behind the veil of secrets, the frequent object of torment. She has been silently battling abuse by the hands of her peers, brushing it off as mere childish taunts. However, her attempts to cope have caused her to become anxious and body-conscious. Eris can't physically change what she looks like, but she can hide it. Unbeknownst to her, The Guardian has been watching over her and he plans to have the final say.
> 
> Eris' enemies are his enemies and he'll fight them all if he has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Bungie.
> 
> A/N: Eris Morn is one of my favorite side characters in Destiny and I realized I haven’t written anything about her yet. My brain finally came up with an idea after I woke up this morning. Sooooo, here we are.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 1**

* * *

Under the harsh fluorescent light, a woman with raven hair stood, shielding her eyes with a pale hand and a scornful squint. It was an hour before dawn and rest had not come peacefully to her in the night. Sleep was a fickle thing, as whimsical as the roll of fog in the wind, and hardly obtainable. Swiping a hand over the bathroom mirror, the cool moisture squeaked in protest as it beaded down the glass in rivulets. 

Staring into the freshly swiped mirror, a trio of green eyes, stared back at her. They were a bright and sickly green that reminded her frequently of the glowing neon signs in the Bazaar district. These fleshly organs were not her own. They are stolen trophies, plucked in pits of miasmic, dark shadows, that served as a constant reminder of her gumption—perhaps—her will to live. They are as foreign to her as she is to the world around her.

A pale hand raked through her raven locks with a tight yank as they were freshly wet and warm from a shower. With her other hand, her fingers lightly touched the skin rimming her eye sockets, the feeling rough and inhuman. The skin around her eyes had long turned pallor, grey even, according to opinions not her own. From the common whispers of the outside world on the subject of her complexion, it appeared parched and leathery like Hive epidermis. In short, she was a blight, an affront, to society.

In her days as a Risen Huntress, where the fount of Light swelled within her spirit, she had human attributes like two eyes. The color of which she cannot remember, even now. Try as she might, their unique identity was erased from her mind and replaced with a trio of Hive repugnance. Were they green like the deepest jade, precious and honored? Were they glistening like fresh amber resin dripping from a tree? Were they as icy blue as the arctic sea? Perhaps they were a special hazel, the colors closely resembling the pallet of a healthy mountainous forest?

Alas, she did not know.

"There is no use in longing for what was, Eris," she chastised herself with a whisper.

Exiting the bathroom in a brisk walk to the bedroom, she quickly snatched her thick robes from the mattress. The smells of wild lavender intermingled with frankincense, danced about the room's atmosphere toting pleasantries she could not fathom. For a small moment, the raven-haired woman stopped what she was doing. With a small waggling of her fingers, Eris plucked a gauzy, amethyst bag of potpourri from the folds of her garments and regarded it with curious scrutiny.

" _Peace is fleeting_ ," she thought to herself, but she could not deny the appreciation she held for the freshly harvested herb and spice. They had come straight from Ikora's private garden reserves, a place the Warlock Vanguard let only her closest visit. This bag, however, was placed here by the care of Ikora herself. She cared for Eris, their old friendship often served as an anchor to reality at times. 

As much as Eris wished to reciprocate, there was no time to focus on such things.

The potpourri fell among the pillows as Eris dressed for the day. The last pieces of her attire to be placed on her personage was her veil and the headdress that kept it in place. As her hands wrapped the material around her head, her fingers caught in the tangled tendrils of wet, black locks. Holding the ends of the veil in one fist, she tried to pull the hair out of her grasp with the other. A frustrated sigh escaped her full lips as Eris succeeded in pulling more hair and lost her grip on the material all together. The former Huntress cursed under her breath and strode to the bathroom in search of a pair of sheers. Drawer after drawer, she yanked them open; and, drawer after drawer, she slammed them shut.

Eris growled at her luckless venture and left the restroom. She could not afford to waste the important time she had on useless cosmetic—headaches—and resolved to leaving her small apartment behind in a cloud of gloom. As she came to the end of the corridor where the elevator was located, at least a dozen or so Lightbearers parted before her as if she had cleaved herself a pathway with a Hive sword. Eris had not bothered to don her headdress and the only thing concealing her appearance was the veil she had loosely tied in place.

Her hair no longer dripped with moisture but had started to wave and curl with dampness. The elevator doors had parted, and its newly arrived occupants practically jumped out of the contraption with silent terror as they ran out of sight.

"Did you see her face?" one of them asked.

No one answered, but their silence was clear enough.

Eris bit her lip as a scowl began to form on her Hive-human features. Stepping onto the lift, her personal frustrations swiftly hurtled from a three to a twenty. In her silent stewing, Eris had not noticed the presence of a Guardian to her left until they shifted to lean against the elevator wall.

Eris stiffly turned to them with a furious expression, almost begging for a war of harsh words and scathing remarks. Her anxieties dialed down to a ten as she caught sight of someone familiar. She almost wished she had not seen them or acknowledged them for that matter. Turning her focus straight ahead, she decided to say nothing as an awkward tide washed over them.

No matter.

Eris did not have to explain herself. She simply was who she was. She might look unearthly—appalling, hideous, ghoulish, abnormal...revolting—but there was nothing Eris could do. 

The ghostless woman mostly hid herself behind the veil and she felt the eased comfort of its secrecy. She understood its protection and basked in its familiarity—it was home.

"Morning, Eris," he spoke, his voice kindly and without judgement.

"Guardian," she answered with reserve, eyeing him with a suspicious glance. He was helmetless and his dirty-blonde hair hung to his shoulders in loose waves. His dark beard was neatly trimmed but slightly full. With a quick scratch of his jaw, his blue eyes searched her expressions with thoughtfulness.

"Even after all this time, you still won't call me by name?" he asked straight-faced.

Eris laughed humorlessly. "Crota's End. Does that suffice?"

"Sure, but 'Roman' is fine," he offered with equally dry jest. 

"Roman," Eris answered, the name seeming strange from her lips.

He nodded approvingly and all went silent once more. As the number counter would tick on by, denoting the floors they were journeying past, Eris would catch him staring at her from her peripheries. A tick of irritation set in her jaw and her fingers clenched. "Why do you stare at me?" she inquired after a while.

Roman pushed off from the elevator wall, leaning toward her as he reached a hand outward and pressed the "emergency stop" button. The lift lurched to a halt as Eris's eyes flicked between him and the hand he rested on the red knob.

"Eris," he said after a moment, "you are so very hard to talk to sometimes. I came here to warn you."

She clenched her teeth before batting his hand away from the dials. The side of her fist punched the button and the elevator resumed course with a starting jump. "Warn me of what?" Eris inquired, while taking a step back to steady herself. She folded her arms and began drumming her fingers against her upper arms. Roman took that moment again to stop the lift and the cabin jerked to a standstill. This time he took a step in front of her, effectively keeping her from the control panel.

"Just _stop_ for a moment," he demanded, "and listen."

"Your arrogance is trying my patience," she stated as she dropped her arms. "Hunter," she added after a moment.

"Unbelievable," he breathed, his blue eyes flicking away from her. "Look, I'm trying to save you from the stupidity that you will find on the top level."

"And _I_ ," she emphasized, "am trying to make it to the Vanguard Hall for a meeting with the Consensus before I leave for Io. My mission is important and _you_ , are keeping me. Move or I will move you."

Roman raised his gauntleted hands, in a motion that showed he was finished. The Hunter moved aside and resumed his carefree lean against the cabin wall. A chime came from overhead when they reached their destination and Eris plunged along without a second thought. She strode forward with purpose and left awkward matters, including Roman, behind. Eris began muttering to herself as she climbed a curving staircase that lead her to a bridge before the courtyard commons. 

Walking toward her was a passerby Guardian who bumped shoulders with her and didn't bother to apologize. Eris brushed it off and she resumed her course. Taking a side staircase, she descended its depths and crossed over another bridge. The walkway joined her to a small terrace with three small tables, all of which were unusually occupied. Ignoring the chattering Lightbearers, she strode on by with her head held high. 

A slight breeze kicked up and Eris felt her hair take flight somewhere beyond her shoulders.

The breeze blew again, and Eris' self-consciousness rose higher than the tallest Tower parapet as her veil swept away into the breeze. Her hands flung to her hair in reaction, her fingers barely touching the material as it spirited away. She turned, hoping to catch her veil, but found a broad-shouldered Titan holding the material in his fist. He regarded the cloth for a split second and then looked to her with disgust written all over his face.

"Why are _you_ still here?" He spat. "I'm surprised the Vanguard let a Deathsinger stalk our halls. Corrupting our Tower. Giving all our secrets to the Hive." The Titan raised his arm out and over the terrace railing letting the veil fall freely below. Eris tried to snatch it from the air, but her long fingers grasped nothingness. The wind swept Eris' hair over her face as she righted herself, defeat found nowhere within her countenance. She stood tall and her trio of eyes hardened with audacity. 

"You fool! You know nothing of the whispers of the deep, nor the songs in which are sung from the grips of death itself," she chastised passionately. "I am no oracle of deathly hallows. I do not pluck a tune from the chords of nether-realms and use them against my people. No! I am the town crier, seeking to relay a message of warning to those brave enough to hear it."

"So, what? You think yourself important?" someone asked behind her.

Eris turned and found a Crucible-savvy Huntress with clenched fists. "You think you can walk in here and demand our attention and our respect like devoted followers?" The Huntress took a step forward, shoving her helmet into Eris's personal bubble with blatant disregard. "You disgust me, you ugly Witch!" 

Eris felt the sting of a slap cross her cheek as her head snapped to the side with the motion. Her gloved hand cradled her face, half in shock and half in poignant ache. She felt the tickle of miasma come to the corner of her eyes before a trickle of heat and pain began to seep. The trickle soon gave way to the free flow of ichor, black and runny like liquid miasma. Eris couldn't feel the black streams at first as the sting to her face was great, but the shock and horror to her internal mechanisms was greater.

A heated outrage began to bubble up inside her.

The Huntress raised her hand again and motioned for a second assault causing Eris to flinch. Her trio of eyes scrunched closed as she waited for a fresh and smarting affliction.

Nothing came.

Eris' Hive-eyes opened, blinking with apprehension and wonderment. There before her was Roman, wrestling to keep his current advantage over the Huntress in his arms. Eris watched as the ageless woman squirmed left and right, hoping to alleviate the pressure on the arm bent behind her back. Roman squeezed his arm firmly against the Huntress's neck before shoving her off to the side. Eris watched closely after her assailant as Roman brushed past her to deal with the Titan behind her. 

The two men bickered for a moment and somehow, an agreement was struck between them. Eris had not bothered to listen as she kept her skeptical gaze on the Huntress who seemed to be considering retaliation. "Let's go," the Titan said as he knocked shoulders with Eris on his path to usher his friend away. Eris held her shoulder as a new pain blossomed there and she gnashed her teeth at them as they scrambled away.

Roman came to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He turned them both around to face their remaining onlookers. Eris felt him shake with hidden frustration while maintaining a firm, but gentle grasp on her shoulder. She had struggled against him, trying to push away his touch. It burned with meaning and she didn't know how to handle it. For all she allowed herself to understand, Eris knew it burned her. She stopped after a moment realizing he wouldn't budge.

"Anyone else here wanna take a crack at her?" He growled.

No one said a thing.

"Any takers?" he asked again. 

Silence yet again.

"Look at her!" he yelled.

The other Guardians paused and regarded her with special attention. "If I find that anyone has touched her again, they will deal with the sharp blade of a Wraith. Eris' enemies are my enemies. Touch her and I will end you." His hand dropped from her shoulder as the Lightbearers stood up from their respective tables and fled up the grated stairs in silence. Satisfied with their exit, the man before Eris turned to regard her. The fire in his eyes died out and a caring expression washed over him. 

"Eris, your cheek," he frowned. "It's. Bleeding."

Eris touched a glove to her face and frowned at the dark substance glistening on the tips of her fingers. Roman strode to her, grabbing her hand, and pulled her toward an empty table. She instinctively recoiled, yanking her hand out of his. Roman stopped and looked to her confused. "Thank you for your...help," she stated lowly, "but I must be going."

"Not until I've looked that over," he said pointing to the fresh cut on her cheek.

"It is not a mortal wound," she sighed with exasperation. "Roman," she added while looking away dismissively. Eris turned on her heel to leave but was yanked backwards. Roman led her toward a nearby table while disregarding Eris' protests and shooing slaps. Pulling out a chair, he pushed her into the seat and sat on the tabletop looking down at her.

Eris turned away from him and realized that dawn was now upon them. The morning had been dark like night before the confrontation began. Now, it was bright with pastel hues and a young morning sun, emblazoned with promise.

Eris jumped when his touch ghosted her cheek, a small prickle of pain raising in response. "She must have cut you with that slap," he surmised with a frown. 

Eris batted his hand away like a pesky fly. "Don't touch me. It makes me...uncomfortable." 

He laughed dryly, "Why do you always push me away?"

"I _don't_ push you away," she growled, "there's nothing to push."

"Exactly," he frowned again.

"Why are you so insufferable?" she complained as her hair fell in her face. "Always touching and lurking. Always...feeling."

"Because you're in pain," Roman answered. "And you don't see it."

"Don't talk to me about 'not seeing'. I am aware of more than you know," Eris asserted raking a hand through her raven locks. Her hair fell behind her shoulders, a mix of loose waves and curls, staying in place for the moment. 

"When will you realize that I'm on your side?" he asked, scratching at his beard.

"When will you realize that I don't _need_ you at my side," she said harshly. As quickly as she said the words, she felt the pit of regret sour her stomach.

Roman seemed slightly unfazed as he leaned forward, his arms crossed as he rested them on his thighs. His blue eyes studied her for a moment, examining her with purposeful care. No hidden agendas or malice in their azure depths. Eris felt heat rise to her cheeks that only worsened as she looked away. "You don't mean that," he said after a time.

"How do you know what I mean?" she snapped, raking a hand through her hair again. "Curse this hair," she griped. Roman laughed, drawing her trio of critical eyes toward him. He laughed afresh once more and she watched as his eyes crinkled with genuinely, tender humor. 

"Can I?" he asked, pointing to her hair. 

Eris pursed her lips, but sighed consent. "If an army of Hive suddenly unleash an apocalypse on this Tower because you have touched my hair, then I will hold you personally responsible."

Roman laughed as he pulled a hair tie from his thigh holster and laughed harder when Eris' brow arched in question. He shrugged after a moment and put his hands on either side of her head. The feeling was warm and tentative, Eris almost didn't realize he was touching her. She closed her eyes and felt his hands moving her hair this way and that. After a moment, the feel of his touch subsided and the warmth of his hands could no longer be felt. 

She peeked a glance toward him and felt a blush blossom to her cheeks. He was leaning toward her, his face close to hers as he cinched her hair with a final tug.

"There," he said, still keeping the closeness between them. "Right as rain."

Eris said nothing. 

"Don't listen to them," he said, his eyes searching her face. "You are perfect the way you are. Eyes and all."

Again, she said nothing.

"I know the whispers that go around this place and what they say about you," his blue eyes focusing on her green ones. "They are wrong."

"How do you know?" Eris asked, whispering back. She wasn't sure why her voice matched his and the reason suddenly intrigued her.

"I know _you_ ," he said, "that's enough for me."

A fresh wave of heat danced on her cheeks and it gave way to a sudden complexity of emotions she couldn't begin to understand.

"Eris," he began, "you're beau—"

"Eris!" a familiar voice called.

Roman sighed as he leaned back and Eris paused for a fraction of a moment, before looking over her shoulder. A familiar Warlock with skin dark and a high-collared robe made from the finest purple material marched toward them. The scooching of metal pegs against concrete caught Eris’s attention. She looked back and found Roman standing to his feet. He slightly bowed to her, his head nodding, and walked away. 

Her green eyes followed his path toward Ikora, the two giving a quick exchange of pleasantries, before he turned to a corridor on his right. Ikora looked suspiciously between him and Eris, her silence speaking volumes.

"It is nothing," Eris said, standing to her feet.

Ikora pursed her raspberry tinted lips as the expression melted into a toothy grin. She chuckled. "You know, he's been watching you closely since you returned to the Tower."

"Some might say that is—what's the term—creepy?" Eris offered.

The Warlock covered her grin with the back of her hand, her root beer colored eyes glittering with humor. "From what I saw, it didn't appear that way."

Eris cleared her throat. "How...did it appear?" she asked while scratching the back of her neck.

Ikora regarded the action and Eris with a smile. "Nice hair," she said after a moment. "Did _he_ do that?"

Eris muttered something indistinguishable under her breath. "Perhaps."

"I amend my earlier statement," Ikora said looking away. "He's been watching you because he's been concerned. Your presence here at the Tower has raised some...extra awareness...among the others. There are growing reports of your abuse on a regular basis I hear. This is 'shocking' to say the least. Is this correct?"

"They are nothing more than childish taunts meant to draw reactions from me," Eris answered.

"How many times has this happened?" Ikora inquired.

Eris shrugged.

"Once? Twice?" Ikora asked.

Eris shook her head "no".

"Five times? Ten times?" the Warlock guessed.

"No," Eris answered. "I have lost count."

Ikora folded her arms, doing her best not to play out her emotions. "I will see to it personally that this happens no more."

Eris nodded in understanding.

"Come, we have much to discuss. We're already late for our meeting with the Consensus," Ikora said, sweeping her arm out to her side. Eris followed and the two journeyed to the Vanguard Hall in silence, coming to a large, steel door with the Vanguard crest painted on it in gold. The Warlock stopped prematurely and studied Eris for a moment. "He's inside by the way," she said nodding her head toward the meeting room. 

Eris' only tell was the fidgety dance of her fingers at her sides as if she was bracing for something difficult. The Vanguard Hall was nothing new to her. She had endured many meetings here whether they be pleasant or raucous. The former Huntress nodded and Ikora did the same. They stepped into the room and hoped for good reports. Whatever the future held, change was in the air and the entirely foreign feeling of hope blossomed in her heart.

Perhaps, the day would not hold so much gloom after all.

"Hello, everyone," Ikora greeted. "Let's begin."

Eris took her seat at the long oak table, her place reserved to the right of Roman. She tried not to look to him but found it impossible with his fidgeting. As Eris sat in the chair, she found his blue eyes looking to her and realized there was something different about him. His shoulder length hair had been pulled up in a messy bun and she pursed her lips with skepticism. " _That would explain his skill_ ," she thought to herself. 

"Nice hair," he whispered.

Eris blushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: This work is no longer a one-shot.


	2. Anomaly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Bungie.
> 
> A/N: When I originally wrote "A Different Morn" I had imagined it as a one-shot, but in recent days I came back to it thinking it needed more. Since the start of Season of Arrivals, the game's story/lore is giving Eris so much more flavor and depth. There's a lot of intricacies that explain her behavior and why she thinks the way she does. One shining character advantage/disadvantage that encompasses Eris is her willingness to find and stand on the truth at all costs. Even at the cost of her apparent "sanity" or rather "insanity". That takes guts to stand up for yourself and your beliefs. Idk, she's truly caught my attention and I'd like to explore more about what makes Eris, Eris. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 2**

* * *

What had begun as a cordial briefing between the Consensus and Vanguard eventually took a nosedive the moment Executor Hideo stood from his chair. He looked as regal as a king with his crimson reds and white with gold-patterned sash draped across his chest. Even the usual headdress he wore was almost crown-like, further enhancing his influential appearance. Every word that Hideo spoke was polished, imbued with opulent speech, and subtle flattery. All of which was articulated with a tranquil tone that only went surface deep.

Eris was no fool, she could read past his delicately manicured facade, and see the Executor for what he was. A man with a congenital defect known as "narcissism". He loved to talk and "talk" he did. For half an hour he spoke of New Monarchy's forward goals and desires, as well as their monetary numbers. Though he voiced concern over the fact that once again there was no faction rally to be had, the mention was as quick as a breath of air. 

Hideo moved on swiftly from subject to subject, causing Eris's attention to flutter around the room as she tuned out his hubris and vainglory. The Executor only seemed to dribble a seemingly peaceable palaver when he wanted something. All these pleasantries were a fluff tactic to get people's undivided attention and disarm them before the punch. Even Zavala, who was as quiet as a church mouse at the other end of the oak table, remained stoic. The Awoken Commander was nearly perfect in remaining impassive, but his mask was undone by the subtle dancing of his fingers against his bulky pauldrons. 

He, too, was bracing for impact. 

Ikora, however, remained fixated on the data pad in her hands as she quickly reviewed its contents. Her eyes seemed to bounce up and down, side-to-side, as whatever report she read continued to scroll onward. To her left, crouched an almost invisible attendant, that whispered information into her ear. The Warlock Vanguard's strength had always been multitasking and like always, Eris was impressed with the skill. Ikora was, after all, the perfect example of her kind—the calm eye of a hurricane.

Eris noticed all these things before Hideo came to the epicenter of his carefully crafted web. The room held its breath at the mention of two words: Hunter Vanguard. Suddenly, the meeting burst into a cacophony as useless diatribes and varying degrees of attitudes were hurled like weapons. Across from the Executor, Jalaal and Lakshmi-2 could be seen in an animated argument; their voices almost carrying above the rest.

"Why is it so important that we obtain a new Hunter Vanguard? This world is already falling apart!" the Awoken nihilist questioned aloud. "There's no point of inhabiting this planet any longer."

"Are you serious?" Lakshmi retorted. "The Future War Cult has been warning humanity for centuries about the pending war with darkness-incarnate. Here we are, seeing exactly what we have prophesied! We should not be running. We should be fighting to take back what is rightfully ours!" 

The only ones who seemed to be in their right minds up to this point were Zavala, Ikora, Roman, and herself. 

As if on cue, The Guardian stood from his seat causing the pegs to screech across the floor. Eris craned her head back to look upon him seconds before he slammed the side of his fist into the table. The room went eerily silent as all eyes turned to him. His black gauntlet was aglow with the amethyst aura of a Wraith. Though Eris' unnatural trio of eyes had gone to squinting, it wasn't long until the chilling power of the Void faded away from his visage. Roman removed his hand, leaving behind a long knife that had been lodged into the oak. 

Zavala stood to his feet and hunched over the table with his hands spread before him. Bowing his head in defeat, he sighed, "Executor Hideo. You know that conversation has been postponed." After a moment, the Commander leaned back and stood shoulder-straight. "Ikora and I have been working to find a suitab—"

"If memory serves, our last conversation determined that a choice would be made after the Guardian Games. And here we are, several months after the fact, without a Hunter Vanguard or a single candidate," Hideo stated. "Your...Guardian Games...seemed to chase them all away." Immediately, the whispers began to stir. Crossing his arms, the Executor shot a critical glance toward Roman. Eris's eyes flicked from the faux-king back down to the knife lodged into the oak table. She could easily discern where this conversation was headed, and it was not a pretty place. "We have the next Hunter Vanguard in this room." Eris didn't have to look up to know the Faction leader was pointing to Roman.

"If the Vanguard keeps stonewalling, then what will become of the Hunters? They scarcely occupy the city these days. Since the moment Roman arrived, he has made the impossible, possible. Slaying Crota and Oryx in their nether-realms. Fighting and regaining the Light taken by Ghaul. Helping Anna Bray to set up and maintain Rasputin's defense systems. All these things only to name a few in the long list of accomplishments he's undertaken. The Guardian has been more than consistent—he's dependable! The choice is clear, it must be him."

Eris turned her attention to Roman who seemed to bristle where he stood. Somehow, even with a messy bun atop his head, The Guardian managed to look intimidating. His normally jovial expression was hooked into a scowl and matching azure gaze. Though the New Monarchy leader had meant well, he had ultimately offended the one he was praising. Shaking her head, she muttered, "Fool." 

"Executor Hideo, you are out of line," Ikora warned as she placed her data pad on the table. The Warlock's root beer colored eyes had gone hard as she calculated her next course of action from the chair she sat in. The attendant that had quietly relayed important information into Ikora's ear was long gone, their presence nothing more than a ghostly memory. "You might be a part of the Consensus, but the Consensus has no reach over the Vanguard office. _We_ decide, not _you_." After a moment, Ikora frowned and went back to her data pad. "Since ninety-eight percent of the Hunters have vacated the premises, properly evaluating them is nearly impossible. Furthermore, as the office of the Hunter Vanguard prefers it, the only way for a Hunter to be rightfully chosen is through the _dare_."

"And besides," Ikora added, looking up from the tablet, "Only one person earned that dare in the wake of Cayde's death. Who? Even the Vanguard doesn't fully know." As the Warlock concluded her piece in the forum, her eyes navigated to Roman, before they turned hollow with grief. 

"I cannot fathom how this is an official stratagem," Hideo sneered sarcastically. "Are we not a refined society of thinkers? Can't we put this issue to a vote?"

Just as the Executor finished saying this a _thump-thump_ jostled the table. Eris leaned over and found a pair of boots, lounging crisscrossed on the surface. Beyond the worn treads, was Suraya Hawthorn with her arms crossed behind her head and a grin on her face. "I vote," she chuckled sarcastically, "that you shut your pie-hole and let the Vanguard decide."

The background whispers suddenly hushed, exchanged by some for reactionary laughter.

"You—you uncouth sea urchin!" Hideo roared, his cheeks turning deep red.

"Pipe down, old man. Before you blow a brain cell in that monarchical head of yours," Hawthorn said. Pulling her feet off the table, she stood, and shouldered her rifle. "All this talk about putting it to a vote...heh! That's rich coming from New Monarchy. All you think about is yourself, Hideo. If you were smart, then you'd know you've offended the one you're praising. Just shut up for once and listen." 

"You have no right to talk to me that way," he said, pointing to her outraged.

Hawthorn's eyebrow raised, "Do you really think I care? Look around you. There are more pressing things at hand. Humanity just barely survived a jury-rigged hack job called The Almighty crashing to earth. And on top of that, we have isosceles of doom to compete with. Cut the Vanguard some slack."

"Slack? Slack?" the Executor practically shrieked. "They've had plenty of slack. We've been functioning on two-thirds—more like one-third—administrative power and it shows." Eris almost missed it, but she glimpsed Zavala flinching as if the words were an assault on his character. It was subtle, but it was enough to notice. "Their control is waning. The Guardians we so desperately need watching over the last of humanity are becoming antisocial malingerers—vagabonds even."

"Vagabonds?" Hawthorn scoffed as she tilted her head to the side. "Then you have no idea who your greatest allies truly are. I see these men and women, day after day, busting their chops. Not all of them get to come home." Suddenly her sarcastic tone dove into defensive frustration. "Every time I see a dead ghost and its pieces come home in a bag like scavenged scrap metal, it makes me sick. So sick!"

"Suraya," Zavala cut in softly while placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "That's enough. You've proved your point. Let it go." 

"Sometimes, _I_ don't even know how to handle it," she began while shrugging off the Commander's petition. "And the Fireteams and Clans...their families...they all bear the same scar. The same devastated look after the news arrives. All—all of it keeps me awake at night. How can you possibly stand there and think for one second that what you're saying is the whole truth?" The woman pulled the hood of her poncho over her head while keeping her eyes locked on Hideo.

He said nothing as he stared blankly into her eyes.

"Just because _some_ Guardians decide not to uphold their honor...their duty, doesn't mean that _all_ Guardians choose to live the same. Don't mistake the minority for the majority," Hawthorn pushed her chair in and headed for the exit. Waving a hand over her head, she said, "I can't stand it in here anymore. It's too stuffy. Peace!"

Eris frowned as she watched the doors close behind Suraya. She couldn't help but agree with every word. They rang with truth and it resonated with her as she thought back to her old fireteam. Being that she had barely escaped the clutches of Luna through fateful tragedy, she never got the chance to recover her teammates' ghosts. Not a one. Suddenly, shame began to claw at her and her stomach plummeted with unease. Eris' thoughts worked silently to torment and harass her, playing and replaying the events of bygone memories she could not change.

It was becoming hard to think—hard to breathe—but not as nearly impossible as it was when the living nightmares plagued her. Eris sighed, not realizing she held her breath. Closing her hive-eyes, Eris remembered vividly the days when she would stare at the pyramid ship from her perch within the Scarlet Keep. The terrace-turned-into-study was where she worked to find the hidden things the Hive were so desperate to bury. 

For five days straight, Roman came and found her at war with the phantoms plaguing her. With each visitation, Eris grew more haggard, fighting off the ghoulish taunts the nightmares hurled at her psyche. They were loud and terrible, driving her to the edge of abysmal insanity. She felt weak and hopeless like the darkness was swallowing her whole. At last, she swallowed her pride—that instinctual self-preservation—and called for his help. The agony had become too much to bear on her own. 

_"Please! Leave me alone...," she pleaded with the vaporous ghoul in front of her. The nightmare of Sai Mota roared at her with such malice that Eris fell to her knees. Overcome with the grief that acted like salt to an open wound, she finally realized the waxing of her emotionally, numb trauma. Everything stung. Everything buzzed. It all felt surreal. She felt like such a ragged failure. Her fireteam died while she remained alive; barely living life as if she were on the edge of extinction. What terrible fates they all suffered while Eris only paid the toll at the expense of her eyes and comfort._

_A noise from behind her, like a foot dragging across gravel, caught her ears. The person intruding on her private moment remained silent as they waited upon her. Eris didn't bother to look up. She knew who it was. For a moment, it seemed as if they were backpedaling, and a part of her wanted a moment of their presence. Even if it was only for a little. "No wait! Don't leave. I don't...I need you!"_ _Roman—ever a Guardian of the Light—delivered her from the clutches of despair without question. One by one, he dispelled the phantoms with gifts of memorabilia that restored the five fractured remnants of joy unto her._

_Sai Mota's necklace._

_Vell Tarlowe's mark._

_Toland's Lost Journal._

_Omar Agah's talisman._

_Eriana's letters._

For every gift, a piece of sanity was also restored, and old memories resurfaced from the depths of forgetfulness. As the phantoms evaporated in the atmosphere around her, Eris grew suddenly conscious of Roman. He had seen her at one of her darkest moments and what embarrassment she subsequently felt. Her flaws and mistakes...all the cards were on the table...or so to speak. Never had she felt so indecent. So...unworthy. From then on, she tried to broach that awkwardness with distance. Only contacting him when situations required it of her. Yet, his earlier comment in the elevator had started to burrow and fester inside her chest like a tick of doubt.

_"Even after all this time, you still won't call me by my name?" Roman asked straight-faced._

What a fool she had been. Had his bit of kindness been too much to accept? Was she too broken and bitter to let in a ray of friendship? 

"You don't want me as your Hunter Vanguard," Roman finally piped in. Eris stirred from her reverie, almost startled by the Guardian's voice. "Even if it came down to a vote, I would be a waste to you here. I'm not the one you want."

"What do you mean, Guardian?" Hideo asked, his almond eyes appearing defeated. "You're an excellent candidate. Do you think no one would vote for you?”

" _Votes_ are not what concern me, Executor," Roman contested. "It's the facts that involve the 'why'. Why would anyone want me here, when I can do so much more good out there?"

"He's got a point," Zavala chimed in. "This is one of only a few reasons why we have not asked this of him."

"I second Zavala," Ikora said, as she rose to her feet. Quickly, she held the data pad to her chest. While the fingers of her left hand danced against her long robes, she took a moment to survey the occupants of the room. In her graceful search, Ikora's root beer eyes rested upon Eris. "The Hunters need a Vanguard, yes. However, our dear Cayde-6 laid down his last and most important card—his value. We have to come to terms with the fact that he's left behind a pair of impossible boots to fill." Then she quickly added, "Again, leading us back to our earlier discussion. Whoever the rightful candidate is, I am concerned that the probability of hastily made options would fracture this faction of Guardians. Be advised, this is not an easy thing."

"And this...'isosceles of doom' Hawthorn spoke of," Jalaal broke in, "shouldn't we be making evacuation attempts? With the exponentially growing number of enemies, we should leave this planet sooner, rather than later."

Ikora chuckled, revealing the pearly whites behind her raspberry tinted lips. "That's exactly why we requested Eris Morn to join our briefing today." 

Murmurs took swift flight about the room as all eyes were turned to Eris. Several fingers were pointed in her direction, no doubt appalled by her uncovered face and the uncharacteristic hairdo she currently wore. The moment Eris thought of these things, she fought the urge to inspect the mass of hair follicles atop her head with an inquiring hand. The heat of subtle embarrassment blossomed on her cheeks and she hoped no one could see it. 

Eris made to stand just as a gentle and cool sensation brushed against her hand. Shooting an investigative glance to her left, Eris found Roman fidgeting with his cloak. The material rustled as he adjusted it, fanning it out behind the chair he sat in. The action was a cover up. He had meant to encourage her subtly without everyone knowing. She sighed, knowing full well that she did not deserve his kindness. 

Focusing her attention to the room at large, her trio of eyes ghosted over the monotony of prejudiced faces. Save for the friendly few, Eris chose not to look any of them in the eye. She was determined not to be distracted with reading their expressions. Now was not the time to be meek and mild, but bold and courageous. While she fought for the words to speak, all who had been standing took to their seats.

"As all of you well know, we have come to focus our renewed suspicions upon Luna. It started with the emergence of Hashladûn and her malice-grafted brood. Yet, after The Guardian—Roman—felled her, we discovered deeper quandaries." Eris quieted for a moment, letting her words sink into her audience. It seemed that their meanings, unveiling calamitous prophecies, were as hard to swallow as they were to speak. Nevertheless, she forged on, continuing her role as "messenger". 

"In the darkest depths of the Scarlet Keep, we found the first Pyramid Ship humanity has seen since _the_ Collapse," Eris stated gravelly. "It has been lying in wait all these centuries, undisturbed, as it wove its chaotic machinations from the shadows. Now the entities that commanded vessels such as this are racing towards our outposts as we speak with unknown strategies. But we still must be aware that these ships of darkness are not the only powerful enemies scheming against us. There is another player in this grand game of chess. One we are _not_ prepared to—"

"We know this already," Hideo groaned, "This is old information. Tell us something we don't know."

Zavala sighed exasperatedly like he was worn out by the lead up to Eris' main point. The two had been at odds since she came back to The Tower; never quite seeing eye-to-eye. His reaction was more out of frustration, hoping beyond hope, that what was being said was untrue. The Vanguard Commander wanted not another hurdle, but a quixotic solace. The kind of which came at too steep a price and would surely cost humanity its long-term chances at survival. 

" _As_ _I was saying_ ," Eris reiterated, unintimidated by the Executor and Zavala's posturing. "There is another player who has entered into this fight sooner than expected. The Witch Queen. One who sits on the Taken Throne. Subjugate to None. Savathûn—The Deceitful—sister to Xivu Arath and Oryx."

"No," Zavala rebutted, "there is no evidence to prove this...this opinion."

"Opinion?" Eris questioned aghast. "This is no mere _opinion_ , but rather based upon the times. Would you continue to deny the signs? I have observed many harbingers across the solar system that indicate her involvement. The Taken under her command and the scattered Hive broods have been stirring with renewed purpose and fervor as the Pyramids of Darkness loom closer. I have even taken regular trips to places such as Io to be certain that what _is_ evident to the naked eye _is_ reality."

Ikora seemed to fidget where she sat, caught between a rock and a hard place. "Perhaps, we should look into the matter more closely," the Warlock Vanguard surmised. "Caution is best observed, rather than disregarded. Is it not?"

Standing to his feet, the Awoken Titan kept his eyes glued to Eris as a range of emotions shaped his face. He didn't seem to hear Ikora's reasonable petition as he mulled over whatever was on the tip of his tongue. Finally, his eyes appeared determined and that was when Eris knew he was set in his purpose. "Eris...I...I think it's time you come home. Permanently."

Flabbergasted, Eris shuffled backward as if she had suffered a blow. The chair behind her scooted away before toppling over. "Did you not hear me? Savathûn is coming, _if_ she isn't already _here_. There is no time for deliberation or soliloquies. We have run out of time. The Hive are plotting at Hell's gate to utilize the resources afforded them by darkness-incarnate."

"I will not stand here and abide by your doomsday proclamations any longer. You've been away too long. You're so used to being alone. It's changed you. You are not the 'Eris' we know—"

"Hold on just a moment," Ikora jumped in. While standing to her feet, the Warlock wiped her hands down the front of her robes, working to tidy herself quickly. "Eris has been our greatest ally. A proven informant on all things Hive. She's our expert. I've seen the Pyramid Ship on the Moon with my own two eyes. I don't doubt, for one second, the likelihood of this exact scenario playing out. We should consider what Eris is saying. Doesn't she deserve our highest regard?" 

"She does. That is why I am telling her to come home," he said, unpersuaded. 

"Zavala," Ikora sighed, "Eris is still the same. If you trusted her _before_ , then you can trust her _again_."

"It is no matter, Ikora. He thinks me silly. Addled by loneliness and assuaged by miserable company." Just as Eris turned to pick-up her chair, Roman had already jumped to his feet and righted the piece of furniture to its four pegs. Nodding her thanks, Eris pulled the small fragment of Ahamkara bone from her robes. Suddenly, her countenance basked in the lime-green glow of the object levitating inches above her hand.

"That's—that is not what I said," Zavala rebuked.

"Not necessarily, but it is what you implied." Shooting a glance over her shoulder, Eris summoned a dark rift like a portal in front of her. Elements of the Consensus, primarily the Faction leaders, began to gossip with surprise. As usual, Eris seemed to conjure fear from them so easily. She was an unknown variable. A bug appearing from thin air; unintentionally inciting panic. 

How hideous she must seem. 

How cruel they all were; unwittingly driving a deeper wedge like a barricade. 

She felt alone—alien even—in her own "home".

"Mark my words," Eris warned. "Whether you wanted it or not, the Witch Queen is already at work. Whispering her false constructs, weaving small slivers of falsehoods amongst the many layers of truth. Her eyes are everywhere. Ever watching. Ever gleaning. Always cunning."

At the finish of her spiel, Eris turned to Roman. His blue eyes seemed to observe her, analyzing for himself the genuine truth regarding her. The Guardian seemed unconvinced by all that he heard, yet he seemed cautious. He remained silent, yet tentative, as if he were waiting for her to address him. She did not as she turned to Ikora. "I have stayed too long and there is much work to be done. You may not hear from me for a time."

"Where are you going?" Ikora said, extending a reaching hand forward.

"I am bound for Io to consult Asher Mir, before my true journey begins," she declared.

"Eris," Zavala called, his eyes silently pleading. "Come home."

"No, I will not." As she said this, Eris took a step backwards into the rift. "Farewell."

* * *

On the other side of the rift, Eris felt as if she could breathe for the first time in hours. She always hated briefings. The variety of easy-to-difficult personalities intermingled with insufferable proclivities. It was all too much, and it left her stomach in knots. Eris was hardly a social creature and events such as this sapped her of all her emotional strength. She was tired of treading lightly, like she was cautiously traversing the floor of a Hive hatchery. She could only be oh-so-careful for so long before stepping on a broodling and alerting the entire enclosure.

As she strode past the late Speaker's office, Eris descended the stairwell two steps at a time. Once she made it down to the bottom floor, her trio of eyes caught sight of Lord Shaxx traipsing along the corridor. The Titan appeared to have lunch in one hand and a drink in the other as he hummed cheerfully. _Hm. Hmm. Hmm. Hmmmm._ The first set of bars Shaxx sung to himself were light and higher pitched until he came to the second. _Hm. Hmm. Hmm. Hmmmm._ This time the tune was lower. Low enough for a man to sing, or hum, comfortably. 

"Good afternoon, Eris," Shaxx hailed, positively beaming as he strode toward her.

"Shaxx," she said with a nod.

"You look lovely without that mourning veil on your head. And your hair. It looks beautiful," he said observing her a moment longer. Eris couldn't help but lightly blush before self-awareness came crashing down upon her psyche. Was this going to be a regular occurrence? "What is the occasion that you have graced us with your looks?" he asked, his voice practically a smile.

"No 'occasion', Shaxx. A Titanous oaf stole it from me and threw it from the side of The Tower this morning," Eris mentioned casually. 

Lord Shaxx lurched to an abrupt stop as if someone had slugged him several times over in the gut. The poor man almost lost his lunch as he leaned forward, then back, as he worked to regain his balance. "I beg your pardon. Do my ears deceive me? Did you say a 'Titan'?" 

"Yes," she answered. "But it is nothing. Just meaningless taunts."

"Taunts? Why would anyone do such a thing? And what's this?" he said, pointing to her cheek. 

Eris gave a long sigh, expelling the last of her energy to care for such trivial things. Waving his hand away, she said, "It is just a scratch."

"Hmm," he replied. Her answer was not enough, but he let it pass. "Very well. After I have my lunch, I will find the idiot who did this and stick him in back-to-back rounds of Survival. Or perhaps, Rumble. If his attitude has not changed by then, I'll make sure to sign him on with Saint for a wild weekend in the Trials." The Titan laughed mischievously as he said to himself, "Yes...I think I will."

"There is no need, Shaxx," Eris said, shaking her head.

"Nonsense. Besides, I always love a good Crucible match," he chuckled, unpersuaded. The Titan renewed his amble toward the stairs before yelling, "Don't worry Eris, I'll fix everything." As Shaxx made it to the topmost steps, he went back to his jovial humming before fading out of view completely. Eris shook her head once more and quickly made for the Annex. All the while, unbeknownst to herself, singing the same tune.

_Hm. Hmm. Hmm. Hmmmm. Hm. Hmm. Hmm. Hmmmm._


	3. Ethos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Bungie.   
> A/N: This chapter deals a lot with Eris' internal processes and issues that she has yet to resolve. She realizes her coping methods are unhealthy but is not yet willing to work through those negative habits. Thus, they come to life and affect her relationships to where she can't receive friendship though it is something she desires. This also affects her moral compass as she continues to bypass the people who obviously want to help and goes straight to acquiring unorthodox help. 
> 
> I find this to be a relatable quality that we all have at some point experienced in our own lives. Even if those decisions aren't necessarily the "right"/"best" decision, and we happen to know what is right, but don't go through with it. Life is about choices and what we make of the end result. We are absolutely free to make a choice(s), but we are never free from the consequences. This is what Eris is about to learn.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 3**

* * *

The journey to the Annex proved pointless as Eris stood before a barred gate blocking off the entrance to the Drifter's hidey-hole. Wrapping her hands around the bars, Eris leaned forward and placed her forehead against the cool steel. Closing her eyes, she sighed. The slimy toad was always here and never far. Hanging out in the basement where he stood apart from the general masses. Though he never said a word of it, his actions practically begged people to search for him. He liked to be important. Yet, today, he was not where he should be.

Curious.

Opening her hive-eyes, Eris looked beyond the bars and into the vacant room. The lights were out save for the eerie aura coming from the vagabond's jury rigged mote-collection bank. Inside its cylindrical containment field, light and dark energies raged about in a sort of rhythmic dance. In swish-swirl fashion, the continually-mixing matter undulated like milk blending with coffee when poured into a ceramic mug. Here and there its shimmer and gleam would bounce around the room, silhouetting the Drifter-less platform facing the entry.

All was quiet. 

Too quiet.

Just as Eris resigned herself to the luckless venture, her thoughts were quickly interrupted by an unexpected guest. The rustling of their cloak was the only thing that gave them away as she shot a glance over her shoulder. She hadn't noticed him until now. Roman had especially light feet for a Hunter. "If he's not here, he's probably on that junk he calls a ship," he announced. "Now is usually the time when he referees his _Gambit_ matches." Eris stepped away from the bars and turned her attention to him. He was quiet while his blue eyes searched the meaning behind her subtle frown. "I thought you were leaving for Io? What business do you have with the Drifter?"

"I am," she mumbled. "My _business_ has not changed. Visiting the Drifter is merely a formality as I make preparations for the forward journey."

"Formality? Nothing the Drifter has to offer can be good," Roman huffed. His advice was rather sharp, but Eris understood the sentiment he was trying to impart. Cautioning her against selling her own soul to the devil; and agreeing to an accord that would cost more than Eris bargained for. Unbeknownst to him, however, she was already prepared. She was _nothing_ in comparison to _all_ life. Eris would gladly give her everything, if it meant repaying the lost. 

Somehow, in some way, it would make up for her sins.

"I am well aware of his habitual swindling and duplicitous character," she contested, withdrawing from him in icy self-preservation. "I am not looking for a highly moral individual. I need someone who can join me in this fight...no matter the cost. The Consensus and the Vanguard are at a stalemate with each other. Cavorting with politics and frivolous revelries. They have lost their gumption—their tenacity. "

"Where he walks, long shadows are cast," The Guardian warned. There was something in his voice that made Eris pause. He was not angry but bothered by her choice. Personal concern, was it? "Darkness is in his steps. He is double-minded in all his ways; ready to greet you with a Judas kiss."

"Shadows, hm?" she queried aloud. The sardonic nature of her question popped out before she could refrain from her quippy reply. "If I last recall, you have taken part in the Drifter's _Gambit_ more than once. Pray tell, why are you lecturing me?" Eris couldn't understand why she was so bothered by Roman and his questions. He was not admonishing her character, but simply counseling her against flawed judgment.

He sighed, "I wish you would quit accusing me of things. Have I not been transparent with you up to this point in our relationship?"

Eris' brow rose at his last word: _relationship_. Was that what this was? 

He didn't seem to notice.

"The Drifter and I never quite saw eye-to-eye. There's an unspoken agreement between the two of us. He stays out of my way. I stay out of his way. He keeps tabs...so do I." At this, Roman crossed his arms over his chest. Eris nodded in understanding, seeing a better picture of the teeter-tottering dynamic of their relationship. She had only ever assumed that he was influenced by the masses like most Guardians often were when it came to blowing off steam. 

Crucible. Iron Banner. Trials of Osiris. _Gambit_. It was all the same, wasn't it? They did it for the glory as well as the comradery. Honing their skills in friendly sportsmanship, though the games were anything but 'friendly'. Eris frowned. She didn't have time to ponder sociology with all of its behavioral contexts. Time was both precious and limited; and she was running out. 

"The hour wanes and I cannot afford to engage in nugatory, philosophical debates about good and evil. Is there anything else you require?" Though Eris chose to be blunt, because it was quick and efficient, she found herself stymied by the cold approach. Being alone was always easier. Less things to step on that way. But, perhaps, one of these days she could try working on her hospitality.

Roman sighed, "I'm not trying to start a debate. What I _am_ trying to do is give you my support, but you're making even _that_ hard to do."

Eris grimaced as his earlier words came to her remembrance.

_"Eris," he said after a moment, "you are so very hard to talk to sometimes. I came here to warn you_."

Over the years, her faith in others had become a fragile thing as it dwindled under self-imposed solitude and jaded perceptions. She was ample to give it to the rare few whom she decided deserved it most. Yet, she had not mutually invested in The Guardian; not in the way he so willingly devoted himself to her causes. Slaying Crota. Vanquishing Oryx. Eliminating Hashladûn. 

Maybe she _was_ slightly fickle. Maybe...there was a sliver of truth in some of the things Zavala had said to her. Was loneliness her company? She could not be completely honest with herself, despite the small voice of truth screaming the answer. Alas, from what she could tell, it seemed his motives were still the same. Purely consistent. Highly advisory.

"Have I ever failed you, Eris? Don't go it alone," he coaxed upon seeing her deliberating expression. "You _can_ trust me. I want _you_ to trust me. Please?"

It seemed she was at an impasse, no longer able to avoid or deny Roman his due. He had earned her trust fairly and all that was left to do was for her to act upon it. With a drawn out sigh, Eris credited Roman for his faithfulness. "Very well, I will call _when_ you are needed."

For the first time since the meeting, he smiled.

* * *

Having gathered the few things she needed from her apartment, Eris stood in the middle of the room feeling quite overwhelmed. The world was so big, and she was so small. There was a lot to do, but Eris couldn't help standing there immobilized like a rigid statue. There were tough choices ahead of Eris, requiring that she make decisions while navigating the unknown. As much as she continued to cycle through all the details, Eris realized there was one thing she could not escape. 

Her responsibility to any negative causality that may unfold at her hand. 

The possibility of her own death had never bothered Eris. On the contrary, she was quite at peace with the idea of her own life’s cessation. It was the negligent extinguishing of billions upon billions of lives that she had to prevent with every fiber of her being. She would not be able to bear living with the fallout—the aftermath—again. No matter how Eris calculated the cost, she was still paying off a fivefold debt to old consequences for asinine vengeance on Luna. There was no escaping herself or the thoughts that haunted her at night. 

Could she bear a more plunging deficit?

Eris was already bankrupt. 

What would become of her if the "fivefold", turned into "billions-fold"? 

What more could she lose?

Eris didn't know. 

Yes, these internal machinations were wholly unhealthy—toxic even. She knew that. However, it was the only way Eris knew how to cope. By merely existing through spreading her faculties too thin. To wage war against a great terror, The Hive, as penance. And while she willingly accommodated this _restitution_ , Eris had determined that peace would come later. Was this truly living? No. This was merely existing. 

Or was it?

Extracting the Ahamkara bone fragment from the folds of her chitinous robes, Eris basked in the fiery lime-green glow that encased the singular piece of bygone Wyvern. For a small time she peered into its depths, her ears listening to the murmurs of old draconic tongue. The more she watched the dancing flames, Eris felt herself sucked into a sort of trance. Though her body was rooted in reality, her mind seemed to flitter away to a hidden pocket of space. 

_The sun, moon, and stars are thine if thou so desire._

_Make known thine heart's ambitions, it is all that I require._

_Speak plainly and establish in totality thine preferred terms_ _and conditions._

_There is no place for carelessness at the hand of contrition._

_The cost of what thou seek, comes at a price._

_Be prepared to fully pay when thou cast the dice._

_Thine wishes cannot be undone once they are already_ _spoken._

_Nothing in this universe can render it null and broken._

_Of traded eyes,_

_Our fates entwine._

_What is thy wish?_

_Oh, bearer mine?_

"Silence, Wish-Dragon!" Eris barked, while shaking her head. The flames of jade started to rage like her emotions, becoming more exotic in its untamed dance. "What you offer is tainted—convoluted by context and subtext. I know your game and I will not be tricked," she declared. As Eris sighed, the blaze receded, cooling down to a warm flicker of light. "You are the tool and I the user. Do not forget your place, Wyrm."

_From deep within thine heart of stone,_

_There is a yearning ache to atone._

_For thine past, present, and future transgressions._

_Whisper into mine ear thine deepest confessions._

_Say the word, and I shall repair,_

_Whatever thou make known and boldly declare._

"Hush!" she exclaimed, causing the flames to blossom with passion. Blocking out the Wyvern-fragment's seductive pleas, Eris focused on the destination she pictured within her mind's eye. A dark rift split the seams of reality right in front of her. Before taking the plunge into its cold depths, Eris turned to the kitchenette and rested her eyes on a simple picture frame. The image contained the dearly departed and herself.

Vell, Toland, Eris, and Omar were crammed tightly together like a sandwich with Sai and Erianna taking up the ends. A smile tugged at the corner of Eris' lips as she thought back to that moment. For a second, she could practically hear them all again. Sai, laughing hysterically. Erianna, yelling for everyone to shut up as she steadied her hand for the picture. Vell, chuckling breathlessly like a hyena. Toland, bemoaning his apparent abuse. Eris, herself, blushing with embarrassment while being mashed against Toland's chest. Omar, loudly protesting Erianna's elbow in his stomach.

Taking that picture had been miserable. And yet, it was her best and worst memory. It was taken two short weeks before Wei Ning was murdered by Crota.

With a deep frown, Eris looked away and waded into the dark pool of paracausal continuum before her. The journey from her apartment brought Eris to a dim and chilled corridor. Though the hallway was expansive for a ship, something about the Derelict made Eris feel uneasy and suppressed. Like the walls were caving in, squashing her together, taking from her the ability to freely breathe. Was this the claustrophobia talking, or was it something else? She did not know. 

As Eris made to stow the bone into the folds of her robes, she paused, and decided to keep it ready.

Just...in case...things went wrong.

Under the grated floors, lights from various integral systems flickered and steam would hiss from far off pipes. Eris tiptoed, walking with caution, as she navigated the passageway. She did this for a time until she thought herself lost. It was only by a miracle that she looked down as the light of the fiery jade orb streaked across a shard of translucent glass. Kneeling to the floor, Eris took a pinch and rubbed it between pointer and thumb. The substance was gritty and powdery, almost sand-like, but not quite. Looking ahead she found more shards trailing down the hall and to a chamber on the right. 

She followed the path of metaphorical breadcrumbs, remaining slow and steady. Silence was her steps. Dexterity the grace of her specter-like methods. Even as Eris entered, the man hunched over a workbench on the other end of the room, had not sensed her presence. He seemed to be fidgeting with something she could not see. His rhythm slowed after a moment, getting sloppier with each second. The Drifter tossed a filled bag to the floor with a _thump_. He thought himself alone, sequestered in the confidence of his freedom. 

The leather duster and bulky pauldrons he usually wore, were lazily discarded on the way to the bench. Drifter's black do-rag was also tossed aside, hanging off the side of the table. The green kimono-styled top sat in a crumpled pile in the seat of a chair, used and abused like a work rag; no longer neatly pressed, but wrinkled. Exhausted motes were scattered about the Derelict, slowly decaying as the Light within its core had long been expelled.

Picking up a dead mote, Eris studied the glassy husk in her left hand. As she brought her right hand away from her chest, Eris used the fiery orb in her hand to inspect the rotten material. As careful as she was, the shard began to splinter and spider-crack in her delicate hold. Eris figured now was as good a time as any to make herself known. Dropping the sorry thing to the floor, she let it shatter and decompose into dust through the floor grates.

Upon hearing the loud clatter bounce off the walls, the Drifter whirled around with a defensively irritated expression. The hand at his waist, tightly gripping the handle of his holstered Trust, fell away as he sighed in relief. The smarmy black-market dealer cursed but recomposed himself nonetheless. 

"Anyone ever tell you it ain't nice to spy on people?" he said, leaning back against the bench. "It's rude."

"Noted," she nodded. "Are you vacating?"

As the Drifter made himself semi-comfortable again, he crossed his arms over his bare chest. His brawny muscles were pale just above the bend of his elbow; a farmer's tan starkly contrasting the gold of his forearm. All along his shoulders and chest were scars, indicative of close-call tragedies Eris knew not. The man lifted his brow in a cheeky jest. Chuckling, he asked, "See anything you like?"

Eris looked away with a scowl of embarrassment on her face. "Is that a trick question?"

Drifter chuckled, "It's okay. What happens on the Derelict, stays on the Derelict. I don't mind a _little_ company. I'm not picky."

"You _are_ repugnant," Eris rebutted confoundedly. 

"As long as you don't call me 'late fer' dinner'," he teased.

"I insist you clothe yourself, Snake!" she demanded while fixing her eyes toward the ceiling.

"It's just my shirt that's off, Eris! Fine," he griped, "It's not like ya' saw anythin' indecent like. Don't say I didn't offer."

"Duly noted, duly ignored," Eris quipped icily. 

Drifter chuckled, "Never pegged ya' as a—uh—wholesome type. No matter." The man held up his hands, before leaning down to grab his duster. Eris made the mistake of looking at him as he twirled the dark leather up and over himself. He grinned, giving her one last view before putting it on and tying the sash at his waste. Eris bounced her eyes away from him, after having noticed the mild chest hair peeking through. 

Nothing made her want to hurl more.

"I've always been great with the Ladies. Until now...it seems," he laughed, while fidgeting with his coat's lapel. Drifter grabbed something and stuck it in his mouth. Eris watched him rattle the thing—a toothpick—between tongue and teeth as he rested against the bench again. "Back to your earlier question. Road trip. Now, tell _me_ somethin'. What has brought ya' to my... _humble_...abode? Translation: How'd ya' get in?"

Eris fibbed, "The airlock was open."

"Uh huh," he mumbled in disbelief. 

"If I told you I was here to...bargain...would that change your attitude?" she asked.

"Is that a trick question?" he cheeked.

"What happens on the Derelict, stays on the Derelict. Isn't that right?" Eris volleyed in return.

The Drifter grinned as he pushed the toothpick to the side of his mouth. "Now yer' speak'n my language, Sista. Tongue-in-cheek...it suits you."

Eris relaxed, if only a little, and approached him as she came alongside the workbench. "Your help is...required."

"Is that yer' way of ask'n?" The Drifter turned toward the bench, grabbed a bag off the table, shoving it into another just like it. He kept at this for a time. "Didn't you keep the sky from fall'n already? Why do ya' need my help?"

"No," she sighed. "It seems that I help little. Only delaying what appears to be inevitable. For a short time my deeds are fruitful, then humanity is threatened with yet another calamity."

Drifter stopped for a moment, "Sounds like a ' _you_ ' problem." The man went back to what he was doing until he ran out of bags within his reach. Quickly, he chucked the multi-stuffed pack to the floor onto the mountain of similar items growing beside the table. 

Plucking a bag from the left side of the table, Eris handed it to him. "You have knowledge that I seek. Things I need to know for the task ahead."

"So...? Go read a book or somethin'," he said, yanking the bag from her hand. "I'm not a gumball machine of sagely wisdom. Go ask someone else."

"No one else knows how to interpret—transcribe, transpose, decrypt—the Darkness. Not like you," she said, rather diminished. "I am at the edge of my understanding."

"Can't ya' see I'm a little busy here?" he jabbed, flinging his arms out. "So, unless ya' have somethin' else to offer me—that's worth my while—then amscray! Beat it!"

"Do not cast me aside like one of your disintegrated motes," Eris said, pointing to the floor. 

The Drifter shot a glance over his shoulder for a moment and heaved his shoulders with a sigh. Eris wasn’t about to leave him alone; she was more than serious. As she eagerly awaited his reply, a flicker of hope sparked deep within her. She needed him. The Drifter was the key for encryption. An integral factor in this grand game of chess. This _gambit_ of Eris' was his _alma mater_. 

The longer the Drifter stayed quiet, the more his eyes gleamed with knowing. He only now realized how important he was to her. 

Importance was value. 

And value meant a sweet...sweet...payday. 

"I leave for Io to reconvene with Asher Mir, though he is not much help these days. He's busy...calculating," Eris sighed. "The Consensus and the Vanguard are also of no use. Zavala thinks I am—What's the term?—'losing it'. But there's nothing to be lost. I am not crazy. The Darkness is looming overhead and Savathûn is making use of our disunity." Leaving Drifter at the table, Eris began to pace in a circle, unconsciously holding the fiery orb close to her chest. "No one—almost no one," she corrected, as she thought of Roman, "is listening."

Turning back to the Drifter, she found the man leaning against the table, watching her as he flicked a jade coin between his fingers. Once the object came between finger and thumb, a flame erupted from its rounded tip. The Drifter snuffed it out with a quick blow and repeated the action all over again. "If I do this for ya', then know it don't come cheap. My service is _never_ free." 

Eris nodded her agreement. "Of course."

Drifter grinned before turning around and swept the workbench clear with his arm. Pocketing the jade coin, he pulled out two stools from under the table. As he sat in one, he leaned over and patted the other. The sly smirk never left him as he watched Eris take purchase in the chair next to his. He propped his elbow against the table, leaned his head into his hand, and studied her carefully. Eris never took her hive-eyes off him, taking note of his dark-brown eyes. There was nothing charming about them, it was like looking into chaos. 

"Before we begin," he said, wiggling his eyebrow, "did ya' do somethin' different with yer' hair?"

Eris blushed, almost forgetting the fact that her hair was up and her appearance unmasked. "No," she fibbed again.

"It looks kinda' cute," he winked.

"Get on with it," she groused.

"Alright, alright, alright," he said, putting his hands up defensively. "Can't blame a guy for try'n."

Eris sighed, "I just did."

"Touché, Sista!" he laughed. 

The two sat for a time and a half, forming a connection through agreements. They traded secrets between themselves, giving in here and there to things they wouldn't have said otherwise. They spoke until there was nothing left to say, listening only to the various groans and creaks of the Derelict's outer hull. 

"Very well," she said after a moment. "I must depart. I shall see myself out."

The Drifter nodded, "One more thing before ya' go."

"What's that?" she asked, stopping just under the chamber's threshold. 

"Knock next time," he deadpanned. 

"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him with confusion.

"Knock. Ya' know? What sensible people do when they go to visit someone," he said, sarcastically. "I coulda been busy for all _you_ know."

Eris shook her head, "I never knew you were the—What did you call it?—'wholesome' type." As she said this, she walked out the door and down the hall. All the while, the Drifter was left in stitches as his laughter echoed down the corridor. Eris extended her right hand forward, summoning a paracausal rift, and walked through leaving the Derelict behind.


	4. Mortality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Bungie.
> 
> A/N: Just to forewarn you all, this chapter will NOT be in Eris' POV. It will follow Roman and kind of give a better explanation as to who he is (especially as a Guardian). He (as a character) hasn't had a chance to shine quite yet. So here is his very own chapter. This will deal with themes of guilt, anxiety, change, mortality...etc. I hope as the story goes on to not only flesh out Eris but Roman as well. Seeing as the two are reliant on one another due to their circumstances, they are both equally important to the overall story. Anywho... 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 4**

* * *

_"So, this is to be a reckoning?" Uldren asked, his voice husky and low like a growl. The struggling royal kept himself hoisted up by a bent arm. His face was worn out, tired as if all his years had been spent in these last and final hours. The misdeeds of his Darkness-induced derangement had cost him dearly, bringing him to an end that no one had dreamed of or conjured for him._

_None, save for the Wish-Dragon_ — _Riven_ — _who seduced him with terrible power and false promises._

 _"Wait, not like this," Ghost protested. "Look at him_ — _he's finished. Even with everything he's done, we can't just_ — _"_

 _"You have no idea what he's done!" Petra raged, leveling her sidearm_ —V _estian Dynasty_ — _at Uldren. Malice was in her hardened gaze, icy with unforgiving fervor, while vengeance stirred the beat of her heart. "If Cayde was here, I know what he would do, Guardian. Do you?"_

_"Yes. What would the notorious Cayde-6 do? You have his gun." Uldren waved his hand, gesturing toward the hand cannon in Roman's tight grip. "Seems you get the last word." The Awoken Prince coughed before steadying himself. Pitching one last self-defense, Uldren looked them both in the eyes, acceptance of his timely fate in his haggard complexion. "Everything I did, I did for HER."_

_The Queen's Wrath remained unconvinced as she determined within herself to be judge and executioner. Taking a step forward, she kept her sidearm steady. Uldren leaned back. He was growing weary. His exhaustion drawn from the depths of bitter defeat. "Funny. The line between Light and Dark is so very thin." For a fraction of a second, his voice wavered with unspoken remorse._

_"Do you know what side you're on?" Uldren asked seriously. His fiery eyes, imbued with sunburst yellow, peered into The Guardian's helmet. Penetrating past the visor and straight into the azure pools of uncertainty. Roman held his breath the feeling of weightlessness stirring his core as if he had jumped off a cliff._

_The smoldering anger within the Wraith had begun to waver, causing his hand to fall. Suddenly, the Ace of Spades felt like a lead weight. This bequeathed memento preserved the memory of Cayde-6 and his last will and testament. Would Roman really use it for vengeance? Could he pull the trigger and live with his choice for the rest of his life? The weight of Uldren's world rested on his trigger-finger and Petra's waning patience._

_Roman studied the Awoken Prince with awe as if he was observing a falling star. Instead of being filled with hope and wonder, he was brimming with grief and dread. A man of noble birth, handsome in both appearance and clothing; graced with great skill in tracking and dexterity; now reduced to pauperism._

_What squandered potential._

_All the glimmer, fame, and fortune in the world could not save the Awoken royal from the hallowed grave he dug himself. Lies spun with truth are like a spider's web. Superficially, the woven strands are observed as fine and delicate. Yet, it is stickier and more loathsome than the prey understands. Once trapped within the unsuspecting net, they become entangled and ensnared. They struggle and struggle until the spider's fate befalls them. Then, and only then, is the quarry consumed._

_The Uldren before him was nothing more than a husk of 'what was'. Yet, The Guardian felt pity, drawn to mercy, within himself. No one would remember this man as the Queen's brother. They would only remember the ruinous effigy of a failed leader._

_Looking over her shoulder, Petra's one-eyed gaze fell upon Roman. Her starlight iris was aglow with multifaceted curiosity and her expression almost completely stoic. Renewing his aim, The Guardian nodded gently as he drew the Ace of Spades with purpose. He made sure to look Uldren in the eyes before his sunburst gaze fled away like evening dusk._

_The Prince was resigned to martyrdom._

_Yes, Roman knew what Cayde would do. That wasn't truly the point. Uldren and Petra misjudged him. They drew their conclusions from the playbook of vengeance. Would he dare follow them down such a cruel staircase into a pit of heresy? Roman was afraid of losing himself. He was never an angry man. Would he be able to recognize himself after this? His stomach was twisted with knots of uncertainty._

_Everything up till now was all for Cayde. This moment_ — _his next course of action_ — _this was for Roman alone to make. Cayde's choice was not his choice. It didn't have to be._

_Shoot or don't shoot?_

_Time stood still as a single shot changed everything._

_Two guns, one smoking muzzle._

_An ending of one turmoil, the beginning of another._

* * *

Roman jolted out of his deep slumber drenched in cold sweat as remorse overtook him. He felt entrenched by intense anxiety as if he were in the midst of a battle. All concepts of self and personal control seemed to slip away—gone completely—as his heart palpitated a mile a minute. Grief tore through him like a bolt of lightning and just as he clenched his chest, the Guardian pitched sideways off the bough of a large conifer. He tumbled several feet, colliding with solid branches along the way. Not long after, he ended up in a pile on the forest floor, broken in every way possible. 

He screamed in pain. 

He screamed in anguish.

His heart felt like it would explode where it rested.

"Roman! Roman! What happened?" Ghost asked, appearing in a cloud of sapphire vapor. The specter's egg white, octahedral shell twitched anxiously while its pegs loosely orbited itself. Nothing intelligible came from his Guardian-ward as Roman gurgled and choked. Acting quickly, Ghost ran a bioscan washing over his Chosen with soft blue light. 

Within seconds, Roman's broken body was stitched together good as new. What remained, however, was a sniveling man with a fractured psyche that Ghost could not fix even with the Traveler's Light. They remained quiet for a while, not a word said between them. Ghost alighted on Roman's chest, taking purchase on a chilled breastplate lightly frosted by the autumnal breeze. It was the dawn of early morning and all was still dark. 

Roman observed the sky for a time, taking note of the bedazzling stars above. They twinkled like diamonds until the rays of sunlight peeked out from beyond the horizon he could not see. The expanse of celestial atmosphere blended with deep navy, majestic maroon, and bright scarlet. How he wished to fall into the heavens, feeling the air sweep past him, tickling like feathers in free fall. He wanted to get away from himself and the world. To simply feel something other than silently grieved or a slave to bouts of anxiety and dark despair.

"You had that dream again, didn't you?" Ghost finally asked. "You've been having the same one since we set out from the Last City several days ago."

"Ghost," Roman addressed, his voice raspy with warning. "I'm fine."

"It's true, isn't it?" Ghost challenged, taking off into the air. As he floated upward, he kept his blue eye on his Guardian-ward. "Just be honest with me. You haven't been the same since _that_ day. And when we left, it only got worse."

The Wraith sat up, shaking his limbs before standing to his feet. He began dusting himself off, swiping at his chest quickly before patting his sides. The moment his hands came to his legs, Roman touched the lead weight strapped tightly inside his holster. Whatever anxiety he had felt melted away. He hadn't noticed when his heart fell into a more natural rhythm. His mind was empty as if it had been shielded from static noise from the inside, out. It was almost like he was weightless or boundless. 

Underneath his gloved hand was the Ace of Spades, the hand cannon that remained unused since the day Uldren died. It truly was a token of " _memento mori_ "—a solid, symbolic reminder of death's eventuality. 

"Shouldn't we at least talk to someone?" Ghost pleaded, his voice rippling with electronic static. "Anyone. Ikora—"

"No," Roman sighed. "I will not talk to the Vanguard. They have enough problems on their plate. I refuse to add to it."

"Can't you see this is tearing you apart?" the specter reasoned as he descended to eye-level. "Please Roman, this can't go on. If you keep holding onto this...grief...you'll lose yourself."

"Perhaps. Any news from Eris?" Roman asked, letting his hand fall away from the weapon.

Ghost sighed disgustedly, "Don't change the subject! You can't muscle your way through this like a Titan. You're not one!"

"Any. News. From Eris?" The Guardian reiterated.

"No!" Ghost blurted like an angry child. "Nothing from Zavala either. Can't this side project of yours wait?"

The Guardian shook his head and began walking the forest floor. "Not really Ghost. Imminent danger is ahead of us and we need a Hunter-Vanguard. Otherwise, we stand divided." 

"And how is looking for _him_ going to help?" Ghost asked, his voice warbling with feedback.

Roman shrugged wordlessly and simply said, "I don't know."

With a drawn out sigh of defeat, Ghost took refuge on the Lightbearer's shoulder. This would have normally been a zone of comfort to the small specter, but he was left rattled and uneasy. His Guardian-ward was anything but talkative and always private about things affecting him. Even with other Lightbearers, he chose to wear a brave front, making everything appear alright on the outside. No one ever suspected that he was a mess on the inside.

Ghost wished upon the Traveler's blessings, that his Lightbearer would see the truth. That the path of destruction he seemed to be soloing was a lonely tragedy. Ghost looked upon Roman for one small moment, studying the features of his brave caretaker. In the core of his complex matrix, Ghost hoped that one day Roman would trust him with his secret-worries.

Their trek back to the main road was anything but pleasant as the two of them plunged ahead. Though Ghost did not feel the stressors of Roman's anxieties, he could understand the burdens and the weight of their duress. As they plod down the muddied, washboard path, they descended a steep hill curving the top of a deep ravine to their right. Just as the incline petered out into a flat road lined with trees, the whine of a distant engine disturbed the murky quietude. Birds took to the air, breaking through the canopies of pine trees in frightened, scattered droves. 

Roman stopped walking, resolved to stand there like a sentinel of the way. He and Ghost shared a hopeful look that maybe whoever was down the road would share a clue or impart an answer to them which could end their troubled escapades through the woods. They were a dot on the distant horizon at first, but it wasn't long before the Wraith could make out the flapping of a midnight poncho. As the Hunter-Guardian came into focus, Roman trudged ahead waving his arms for their attention. It seemed to work as their speed gradually decreased. Eventually, they fishtailed to a stop, the motor straining with an idling purr.

"Greetings, Guardian," Ghost said, alighting into the air. "Have you by chance seen any travelers along this road before now?" 

The poncho wearing Guardian tugged at the hood of their black feathered cowl, making sure it stayed in place while they shook their head. _No_. 

"Okaaaay," Ghost said dramatically. "We're looking into reports about a Guardian that may or may not be hiding out in these parts. He's most often sighted living in abandoned shipping containers." The specter's shell twitched with hopeful excitement, wanting nothing more than to rush along, and meet his Guardian's goal.

They shrugged. _Maybe._

Ghost stopped twitching as the pegs of his shell ceiled together in immediate disappointment. "Oh." 

The Wraith folded his arms, uncomfortable with the Hunter's peculiarly mute behavior. From behind the helmet's visor, Roman's blue eyes were already studying the stranger with critical skepticism. Everything about them, from ride to apparel, was dilapidated and outdated. Their sparrow's frame was rusty and bent, its many mismatched parts appearing salvaged from some dead city. Even the exhaust pipes were bent unnaturally and something beneath the chassis seemed to rattle in idle-mode like a sick feline. 

Aside from the piece-of-junk-transportation, their armor appeared worse-for-wear. Their helmet was especially augmented, creased and dented where old and new material met. The eyes of the viewport were glossy black like the beady eyes of a bird; the breather slightly hooked and pointed like a beak. The midnight poncho they wore hung loosely, its material fraying with time and abuse. Underneath that, they wore some kind of brown leathery vest and riveted, gauntlets. Their armored breeches, recently patched at the knees, were substandard just like their boots. 

It was as if they were... _newly risen_. 

"Is there any information you could tell us?" Ghost proceeded. 

Again, the Guardian shook their head. _No._

Just as they hunched forward, about to twist the throttle on their sparrow, the white specter zipped in front of the stranger's visor. His blue optic searched them meaningfully. The mute Hunter pulled at their feathered cowl, snuggly adjusting the material in place. "Please, anything would help. This is an important matter. Could you at least tell us if there are any shipping containers nearby?"

This time, unlike before, the Hunter pointed back behind themselves and held up seven fingers. _Back there. Seven_.

Ghost floated around them quickly, looking down the length of the road with excited confusion. "Seven...? Seven miles?" Ghost asked, giving his best guess. 

They nodded. _Yes._

Steering around the Wraith, the stranger twisted the throttle, and hauled up the road. Roman watched them go up and over the curve of the hill until they were out of sight completely. For a short time afterward, he could still hear the far off whine of the sickly engine until the forest became mute all together again. Ghost floated into view, a look of confusion in his optical orb.

"Did you notice the hood of that guy's poncho?" Ghost asked. "It was kind of weird. I've never seen a Hunter adorn feathers like that. Very strange."

"Yeah, it _was_ kind of odd," Roman agreed. "He seemed... _new_."

Ghost chuckled, "With all that salvaged junk he wore, dressed in black—he almost looked like a _crow_." Roman chortled lightly in agreement before glancing to the ground. Ghost's simple humor fled away from him as he observed the single, black bird feather stuck in the thick mud. "I wonder where he went off to in such a hurry? I guess we'll never know." Absentmindedly, Roman stepped on the lonely plume before heading down the road again. 

They traveled the seven miles in perfect silence only to find a continuing stretch of washboard path with no end in sight. The Wraith came to a stop in his determined trek and started looking around for context clues.

"This doesn't look good," Ghost chimed. "That Hunter must have given us false information. Perhaps he thought we would recruit him?" 

"Maybe, but something tells me his silence was his most honest expression," Roman answered, his voice a low baritone as he concentrated. His eyes raced along the sides of the pathway, bounding up and over foliage until something about a nearby bush caught his attention. Roman strode forward and plucked a piece of frayed cloth from the leafy branches while noticing the broken twigs underneath. They seemed to be snapped toward the direction of the road.

Pressing ahead, The Guardian plunged along the hidden path while following its subtle directional clues. He did this until it led him to a small meadow with a shipping container at its center. Hanging from its side was a hole-riddled tarp, held to the ground with heavy, oil barrels. Roman ran ahead. Just as he allowed himself to hope, a sense of knowing came over him as his eyes fixated on the makeshift tent. 

There was no smoke.

The meadow was quiet...too quiet.

Roman slowed to a walk, choosing his steps with sneaky resolve, as he brought his Omolon sidearm— _Last Hope_ —to bear. As he readied himself, he whipped around the corner to point his gun into an empty tent. Side-stepping toward the mouth of the container, he peeked in, and found it equally empty. He sighed and walked back toward the tarp, going underneath its shelter this time. Kneeling beside the squelched campfire, he swept a hovering hand over the black charcoal. Subtle warmth caressed his palm.

"Looks like our target is gone," Ghost sighed, while appearing in sapphire transmat vapor.

"Yes, but he left not long ago," Roman answered. 

Ghost turned to survey the area. "This place is—whoa! Would you look at that?"

The Wraith turned toward the white specter seconds before his eyes focused on the skeletal decor hanging along the back of the tent with twine. There were several bird carcasses, long stripped of their plumage and their precious meat cleaned off. Their bones hung like trophies, strung up by their bound legs. Roman stood and strode over to the remains, curiously looking for feathers. 

He combed the area thoroughly, not finding a single plume, until something crunched under foot. Roman stepped back and found shattered wing bones where his boot had been. Waving between the pieces of osseous matter, was one black feather. The Guardian plucked it from the ground as he pictured the stranger on the road. This was his.

"Incoming message," Ghost announced, his voice warbling as if he were in a tin can. "Looks like Zavala wants us back at the Tower."

Sighing, the Wraith dropped the feather and strode out of the tent. "Let's get back, shall we?" Opening the palm of his hand, Ghost appeared in the blink of an eye. Light encased his spectral shell for a small moment before the meadow melted away and they were gone. 

* * *

The moment Roman had arrived in Zavala's office, he found the Titan pacing along the bay windows looking out over the Last City. Though it was morning, no sun could be seen as the autumnal skies were overcast with foreboding. The Commander appeared disturbed, though he mentioned nothing of it. As he walked back and forth, he kept his arms crossed while a large hand scrunched his chin. Worry lines pulled at his face, his eyes seeming distant and plagued. 

The Guardian remained quiet, observing the Commander as he replayed an audio sequence for them both.

“Zavala, you're not going to believe this!" a female voice—Ana Bray's—yelled with shock and a bit of panic. "Rasputin went offline the moment the Pyramid ship came into orbit. I can't seem to prompt any kind of data from his protocol matrices. Not from Mars or any of the other bunkers. His projectiles just seemed to blink out of existence, I think—I think the Warmind might be… I need back up. We all do."

Just as the audio fizzled out, the Commander quit his pacing and turned to regard Roman with a haggard expression. "It appears something nefarious is at work here. Reports have been pouring in from all over the system. Mercury. Mars. Titan. Io. Each with their very own Pyramid docked in their skies. It is said that thunderstorms brew underneath its dark shadow." The Titan leaned over his desk, a long drawn out sigh escaping from him. He didn't bother to look at Roman as he said, "I guess _she_ was right. Eris predicted that something evil was on the horizon. Why—why didn't I listen?"

"Commander, with all due respect, we only just recently survived the Cabal's latest attempt at obliterating humanity. We have a lot going on. No one blames you," Ghost reasoned. The white specter floated over to the defeated Awoken with caution. "What do you need from us? How can we help?"

Zavala looked up, his eyes glancing from Ghost to Roman. "How can I continue to ask this of you? Sending you in blind against a threat we know nothing about."

"Easy. We've done it before. We'll do it again," Ghost justified.

The Commander stood upright and straightened himself. "That won't be enough. Not this time." Zavala's eyes dulled, guilt dancing behind them. "I know we can count on you. Loyalty is not the issue. I'm afraid that once we go down this road, there will be changes...permanent changes. I cannot guarantee that we won't walk out of this unscathed. Death is—"

"We know costs," Ghost answered. "We're willing and we're able."

Roman looked down to the Ace of Spades attached to his leg holster, reminded again of the phrase " _memento mori_ ". Death is inevitable. You can't outrun it. Even with the gift of immortality via the Traveler's blessing, it was still possible for Guardians to return to the dust. "I'm in," he declared, "this is what we were made for."

"Very well," Zavala nodded. "I'll contact Asher Mir and see if he can get a hold of Eris for me. She hasn't been...answering...any of my messages as of late. In the meantime, remain close by."

The Wraith nodded before exiting the room, Ghost trailing closely behind before melting away into sapphire vapor. The Guardian made his way toward the hangar, forthwith, not willing to dawdle. Everything he would ever need was with him and Ghost, they were ready to depart at a moment's notice. Just as he made it down the steps of the hangar's atrium, he found the place practically deserted. Save for Amanda who was working on a sparrow that seemed to be losing oil and grease by the bucket. 

He decided not to disturb her and walked past the stall and up the steps to the next platform. Looking to his left, he could pick out a tall, bulky Exo-Titan surrounded by a crowd of Trials-savvy Guardians. They were equipped with exotic gears and equipment characteristic of Pre-Golden Age Egypt. Each individual glowed with auriferous pride, having passed the tests that tried their metal. All seemed to be thanking the legendary Saint-14 before shortly transmatting out of the bay.

Roman smiled as he shook his head. 

Saint was always popular.

"Guardian! I was wondering when you would come see me next," the Exo said looking up. Just as the last of his crowd disappeared out of sight, he strode forward, and scooped Roman into an iron hug. The Guardian tapped incessantly at the Titan's side as he gasped like a fish out of water. "You do not call. I worry. We have one-on-one match to settle. I thought—perhaps—you were gone because you thought I would win. Shaxx even approved our use of Midtown."

Roman laughed lightly, though it came out like a wet wheeze. "Not in your life, big guy!"

"Hah! Let us make like bord and fly to the arena!" Saint bellowed excitedly as he dragged The Guardian by his cloak.

"Whoa! Whoa! Hold on there," Roman protested, while laughing. "I can't—I can't—I'm on-call. We’ll have to get to it another day."

Saint crumpled forward in half, like a defeated child. "Another day?! Bah! In my day, we did not schedule brawls. We brawl in the streets, with Ghosts as judge. But now—heh—now I have to make appointment. This—this is terrible."

"I know," Roman chuckled. "You'll have to simply schedule my demise another day."

Saint sighed with feigned defeat, "If you are not here to clash our Light, then why have you come to see me?"

"You're in the hangar, it's kind of hard not to," the Wraith suggested.

"Even common bord must have resting place. You would see this if you actually ever rested," Saint cheeked, wagging a finger toward his friend.

“You’re one to talk.” Roman poked playfully. “Speaking of 'bord', can you tell me what kind this is?" Ghost appeared in the palm of his hand, projecting footage of the dead birds and the feather they found inside the abandoned tent.

Saint made a thoughtful clicking noise before turning away. "This is terrible, why would you show me this...fowl play?" 

The Guardian rolled his eyes.

"The feather at the end...it was totally black, yes?" Saint asked.

"Black as night," Roman affirmed.

"It looks like a crow feather," the Exo surmised. "But...I cannot be sure since I do not have sample. I am—what is term—'winging it'."

"You're terrible," Roman laughed.

"Roman," Ghost called after a moment. "Just in. We have official orders to go to Io immediately. Commander Zavala will brief us on the way. No one can contact Eris—not even Asher—it seems."

"Copy," the Guardian acknowledged. 

"Good luck, Friend. Safe hunting." Saint patted his shoulder, though it was more of a smack. "You may need it yet."


	5. Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Bungie.
> 
> A/N: Not completely canon coherent, but it'll follow closely enough. There's a lot happening this chapter with character development, action, and story progression. Eris may be on a physical journey experiencing all kinds of perils, but her true adventure lies in the relationships she's currently making. Her choices of today absolutely effect her choices of tomorrow.
> 
> Welcome to the feels-train, ya'll. Buckle up!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 5**

* * *

It was in the twilight hours that Eris found her like-minded friend with his nose shoved into his dual-monitors. She had just arrived from her personal sanctuary on the Moon, having gathered various materials over the course of a day, before journeying to Jupiter’s fifth orbiting Galilean satellite. Asher’s messages had been both urgent and incessant; claiming to witness unusual Taken activity. Though she normally would have ignored his eccentric behavior, there was something peculiar in the tandem timing of her ventures and theirs.

Asher stood near a radiolarian fall as solid and stiff as a Vex at standstill. The only sign of his continued livelihood was betrayed by the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, accompanied by the periodic twitch of his metal hand. As the sunlight waned, retreating behind tall canyon walls, Asher's face glowed even more blue with computer light. As he read through the information on the screen, Eris trudged up the gentle slope allowing the heels of her boots to dig into the sparse patches of grass intermingled with gritty soil. 

Normally, she kept her steps careful and precise. The noise of her tread tremendously dampened as she endeavored to glide with agile grace. Perhaps, it was the old Huntress in Eris that she carried herself with stealthy reserve. Or maybe, her controlled silence was haunted, a revelation born in the depths of the Moon. Hiding in her enemy's territory taught Eris many things, like how even a small sigh sounded like an echoing bark for miles. Allowing her presence to be noticed was a conscious courtesy on Eris' part, very graciously extended toward her Awoken friend. 

"Eris Morn," Asher squawked, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen, "you're late!"

Stopping a few feet away from him, Eris blinked several times before deciding to ignore the nitpicky criticism. "Greetings, Cousin Asher," she said with a slight bow of the head. "What have you found regarding the Taken movements you mentioned in your messages?"

"Yes, about that," he began. Turning away from his monitors, the Gensym Scribe’s tropical blue eyes looked toward Eris, and held his breath. Instead of glimpsing her purposefully concealed countenance, Asher found a beautiful alabaster woman standing before him. Eris’ usual headdress was exchanged for a hairstyle that was as messy as nuclear fusion and hid nothing of her visage. She was pleasing to the eye.

Asher had long forgotten the pigment of her hair and its natural, silken texture. It was perfectly pitch-black like the all-consuming, boundless pockets of space which light itself could not escape. Her jade-glare was sharp with alien intensity that somehow peered through her rounded human eyelids. Though the surrounding skin had taken on an inhuman pallor, slightly ashen upon further inspection, it had not detracted from her overall appearance. Eris reminded him of the perfectly harmonious architecture of the Pyramidion’s innermost sanctums. She was an exotic blend of the improbable amalgamation of intrinsic beauty and tragedy wrought by the forces of Darkness.

As the Awoken researcher came to the end of his ill-timed internal musings, he found himself in a self-imposed social predicament. Eris was staring at him, waiting for information about the Taken and he was…distracted. Knowing that he would never allow himself to share or admit to any of these inconclusively preposterous, personal findings, Asher shrieked. "By the Jovian moons!" he yelled while pointing to the skies. How could he get so caught up in a superficial mistake? "There's an astronomical anomaly in the skies!"

Eris looked up toward the direction Asher was pointing but found nothing peculiar save for his behavior. "Where?" she asked casually.

"I recant my statement," he answered awkwardly before coughing into his natural-born Awoken hand. "It was simply a passing asteroid. Nothing special." Eris' brow lifted ever so slightly as she shook her head. As she did this a strand of raven hair worked its way out of her frenzied updo and fell into her face. Promptly, the silken strands began tickling the tip of her nose causing Eris to instinctually blow the stray lock aside. Asher looked away, minutely embarrassed, but mostly guilty. Even after all this time, he couldn't forget his small hopes nor could he let them go. Bound to a certain stasis, he could neither decay, nor progress. Thus, he chose to do nothing.

"B-back to your earlier quandary," Asher stammered momentarily. "For the last several days—let's make that three days, fourteen hours, thirty seconds, and two milliseconds—it's been peaceful! They're gone!" 

"Gone?" Eris asked with the slight tilt of her head. "Who's gone?"

"What could possibly be the impetus behind their suddenly, peculiar meanderings?" Asher asked rhetorically.

Realizing that the Gensym Scribe in front of her had not heard her, Eris asked again, “Who...is missing, Cousin Asher?"

The Awoken man did not bother to answer her as the gears in his head worked overtime to untangle the mystery before him. "Their sterile neutrino particles are just that—sterile!" he yelled, throwing his left hand up with exasperation. "They've been sterilized but in the vacant sense!" Eris knew better than to speak again as Asher rambled to himself. At best, he would ignore her. At worst, he would be rather snappy and noncompliant. Eris chose to exercise patience, figuring it would only cost her a small moment of time and save her from an Asher-sized headache.

"Perhaps, I should investigate the source of this newfound quietude. It might be time to form a new Dimensional Anomaly Research Group," he surmised while rubbing his chin. “See where the Taken test subjects have gallivanted off to." Coming to the end of his tunnel vision—or rather, selective hearing, Asher yelled, "Where's my assistant?! That lazy scoundrel!"

Eris sighed, "Your 'assistant'?"

"Yes!" he yelled, looking around as if he lost a favored writing utensil. "What's his name? Ramen? Reuben?"

"Roman?" she asked, suddenly pausing. For a brief moment Eris thought of the Wraith’s smile and how genuinely haunting it was. It was invitingly warm and charming. Eris looked away, partly out of embarrassment but suddenly self-aware. The tingly effects of her enchantment receded quickly as Eris felt a stirring in the air. Something had shifted. What that ‘something’ was, Eris knew not. “If I may, Asher Mir, with things as they are, it could be in your greatest interest to remain here so you can further your…computational analysis on the Vex.”

“Nonsense! You need not investigate. That’s what my assistant is for,” Asher answered with a bewildered expression. “Now, if only I knew his whereabouts.”

“He’s at the Tower, waiting to hear from me,” Eris explained.

“Well, bring Raymond here then,” the Gensym Scribe said rather matter-of-fact as if it was the most logical choice.

“I disagree, it is not that simple. Urgency is needed. I can sense that whatever the Taken are looking for we must find first,” she warned.

“If you feel this way, then what is causing you to remain here?” Asher asked, stupefied. “Go, investigate!”

“You have not yet revealed the direction of their—'meanderings’—Cousin Asher,” Eris answered plainly.

“Oh!” he huffed, slightly indignant. “Uh! Simply a minor discrepancy!” Pointing to one of his display screens, his finger tapped the monitor as he said, "The coordinates are here." 

Eris came closer to see where he meant and mumbled the location to herself. Turning to leave, Eris paused as something nearby caught her attention. Next to one of the equipment boxes, rested a lamp that illuminated a cheesecloth with finger foods on top. Pointing toward the snacks, Eris asked, "Are you done with those?" 

Asher frowned, knowing she was uninterested in the food and more so wanting to take the cheesecloth. Walking over to his makeshift dinner table, he snagged the gauze-like material and all that was on it. Neatly tying it together, he walked up to Eris and gave her what he had. He didn't like how she hid behind things, but perhaps he was guilty of the same thing as he ran away to Io in the name of research. With a small nod, he said, "Take it. It's sustenance for the road." 

* * *

Munching on the last of the stale crackers, Eris shook out the dark brown cloth that Asher had given to her as she sat on the edge of a cliff. As she did this, she looked out on the horizon that yawned before the Echo Mesa. Her eyes fell toward the valley floor far below to a peculiar location with a raised crater. To most, it would have appeared part of Io's craggy makeup. Yet to Eris, she knew there was something more unique to behold. Satisfied there were no crumbs left, or cheesy smears, she took the cloth and placed it over her eyes. Loosely tying it behind her head, she stuffed the excess cloth underneath the knot. 

As she made to stand to her feet, Eris caught glimpses of fine golden strands out of the corner of her eye. They were almost translucent like spider’s silk. Every time she tried to direct her focus on those energy-spun fibers, they seemed to disappear as if they were never truly there. Indirectly observed, they would wave and weave through the air like ribbons in the wind. After a moment, she gave up trying to see them altogether and stood upright. 

“Interesting,” she muttered aloud. 

As Eris dug into the folds of her robes for her Ahamkara bone, readying herself to walk through a rift, she heard the screech of distorted audio as a communication channel opened. 

“How’s it hangin’, Sista?” a familiar voice asked.

Eris waited to reply as she stepped through the chilled pool of paracausal continuum that had opened before her. Upon exiting the portal and watching the seam of reality sew itself back up, she replied, “What are _you_ doing on this channel?”

“Can’t a guy make a simple house call?” he asked.

Eris sighed, “With you—Drifter—it’s never simple.”

“Hey, now!” he gaped, his voice an offended warble over the feed. “I was just callin’ to check up on ya! Dare I say it, test out our newfound camaraderie.”

Eris looked around, finding the high-rise wall of an unnatural canyon stretching far above her. She was in some part of the crater on the valley floor, standing in a one-way corridor. With no other choice than to plunge ahead, she held on tightly to the fiery orb in her hand. “How unusual,” she snipped, “I am surprised you actually know the meaning of _that_ word.” 

The Drifter chuckled, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Moondust.”

“So you say, but I remain unconvinced,” she answered dryly.

“Ouch! Man down!” he yelled dramatically. “How am I supposed to recover from that burn?”

“You don’t,” Eris replied.

“Whew! That’s just cold,” he said, chuckling lightly before sucking in a quick breath. “Anyhow, word on the street is you’re trackin’ down some Taken. Care to shed some light on the situation?”

As she trod ahead, Eris rounded a bend in the path. The communications channel crackled going staticky for a moment before tapering off into a low hum. “I am not on any street you’re familiar with. Pray tell, how has word reached you so quickly?” As Eris waited for a reply, she came to a halt and found herself overlooking a break in the path.

There were several cliff ledges ahead of her, each dispersed in varying lengths with chasms between them. Willing a rift into existence, she walked through it until she found herself on the farthest overhang.

“You know I keep my ear to the ground,” Drifter responded. “I hear all kinds of things.”

Eris stopped walking, taking a moment to survey the area with caution. She hadn’t realized it until now, but she felt somehow lighter. Stronger even. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said after a moment. Reconvening her travels, Eris trudged along the canyon shelf and followed it into a tunnel. She could hear the trickle of luminescent water funneling down from the cracks in the cave ceiling, lighting the way with an aquarian hue. “I am investigating the—‘meanderings’—of the Taken.

“Meander—what?” he asked, confused.

Eris chuckled quickly before she could catch herself. He was only teasing her, and she found it slightly amusing. Not that he needed to know. “Asher Mir believes there’s a source regarding the Taken and their new, peculiar behavior. They seemed to have left the upper shelf in search of something. What that something is, I do not know, but I intend to find out.”

The Drifter scoffed, “Sounds like a lotta boredom work for a buncha’ mindless henchmen.”

Sighing, she replied, “Perhaps…perhaps not.”

“Where ya' headed?” he asked.

Though his voice seemed disinterested, his words betrayed him. Eris knew he was up to something but conceded to play along for now. “The last known place the Traveler touched.” As she said this, the cave’s path began to turn brighter as light filtered through at the end of the tunnel.

Whistling, the Drifter said, “Cat’s in the Cradle. Now _that’s_ mighty juicy. Tell me if you…find anything _interesting_. I’ve gotta feelin’ you might like what you find down there.”

Eris chewed her lip as her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Is there something I should know? What sort of furtive endeavors are you planning, Drifter?”

“Shoot! That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever asked me,” he chuckled. “I think I’ll like workin’ with you, Moondust.” Then with a lowered voice, he added, “It’s just a hunch but believe me, if it’s what I think it is—you can’t miss it.”

“How comforting,” she mumbled sarcastically. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“This is what they call a ‘conversation for another day’,” the Drifter explained. “We don’t need anyone eavesdroppin’ or interferin’ with our current discussion.”

Eris remained silent, deciding to brush past his candor like how she walked through the tunnel’s aperture unhindered. Stepping out and into a clearing, Eris found herself surrounded by cliff walls on all sides. She couldn’t help but gape at the well-kept secret that had taken root here, its splendor branching in auriferous glory. The wisps of golden strands she had glimpsed from Echo Mesa were now visible, even with a directed focus. The fibers appeared thicker and brighter as they danced toward and around the boughs of a massive silver tree at the center of the open cavern. 

“You were right,” Eris whispered after a moment. Pressing onward, she walked up a sloped and gravelly path. While she kept her eyes glued to the tree, taking in its fullness, Eris realized how drawn she had felt. The strength and lightness she experienced earlier only seemed to grow with the distance she was covering. “And you knew about this?” she asked, stowing the Wyvern remant into her robes.

“Knew about _what_?” the Drifter asked.

“Come now,” Eris balked, “we should be plain with one another in this ‘newfound camaraderie’. I am standing here witnessing the impossible life granted by the Traveler's touch—a Tree of Silver Wings.”

“Ya got me there, Sista!” he exclaimed.

If life was like a looking glass, then perhaps Eris' point of view was murky with imperfections. The reflective appearance from said mirror was long warped with fatalistic disillusionment that refracted back upon despondent remnants of all living creatures struggling to survive. Much to her distaste, there was far too much Eris could not see on the other side of things. For every time she thought she understood how the intangible parts of reality worked, the picture would turn darker yet. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of this metaphor, Eris was only peering into deep shadow. 

" _For now we see through a glass darkly_ ," she surmised deep in thought. " _Only living in part, just as we know in part._ "

But Eris was not happy with this idea as she arrived beneath the arboreal oddity, craning her head back as far as she could manage. She felt like a child as she looked up underneath the circular boughs of the silvery tree above. How grand and glorious it was, vested in young purity as it grew sequestered and unmolested in this chasm. Like a young babe, it was swaddled in safety and cradled with care as it rested.

An old, Pre-Golden age nursery rhyme came to Eris' mind as she studied the grandeur of the Tree of Silver Wings' outwardly complex design and luminous characteristics. " _How did it go again?_ " Eris asked herself deep within. She began to hum in hopes of remembering. It wasn't long until the thought reached out and soon enough, the words came to her.

_Rock-a-bye baby_

_On the treetop_

_When the wind blows_

_The cradle will rock_

_When the bough breaks_

_The cradle will fall_

_And down will come baby_

_Cradle and all_

" _What a strange, new metaphor._ " Eris pondered inwardly. " _Easily enough, the 'wind' stands for The Darkness. This place_ _—_ _here where I currently stand_ _—_ _the 'cradle'._ " As she thought of these things, her gaze dropped down to eye-level as she walked in under the spiraling eave of the tree. Coming toward the center of the sapling’s root system, that ballooned upward like the latticed arches of a gazebo, Eris looked upward. In the place where a trunk would have been for any natural tree on Earth, there was none. She was standing in a resplendent ray of pure golden light, both warm and gentle, as dust flitted about like glitter.

" _'When the bough breaks'...perhaps that symbolizes our efforts in keeping Sol secure. It's humanity's strength in unity that keeps our home from becoming a ruinous effigy._ " Eris rubbed at the back of her neck, the rough material of her glove feeling foreign to the tender skin. " _'The cradle will fall'. Could_ — _in this instance_ _—'_ _the cradle' be more than just this physical place? Is the cradle our home just as much as this chasm is home to the Tree of Silver Wings?_ " Eris' mind suddenly felt like a powerful engine as it hurtled through this new thought process. " _If indeed our 'bough' breaks, and the 'cradle' falls, then surely_ — _"_

" _Life itself hangs in the balance_ ," Eris concluded. The 'baby' in the treetop was more than the very thing in front of her. It was more than a tree, it was 'life'. " _Humanity_ _—_ _in this equation_ _—_ _is the baby._ " Eris shuddered at the bit of morbid symbolism she stumbled upon. If the strength of men failed to adapt and overcome the hurdle before them, what terrible and utter darkness they would face. 

Not that this was an entirely new concept, but the perspective had been stripped down to the very core of its intrinsic meaning. It was truth in its rawest form, unpolished and unadulterated. Eris mumbled to herself. "Incredible."

"I'll take your word for it, Moondust," the Drifter's disembodied voice crackled over the comms. "Maybe I'll come sneak a visit sometime and check it out."

"That won't be necessary," Eris groused, "a picture should suffice."

"Hey now! This is history in the making. Ain't nothin' like this since the Black Garden."

"I know," she agreed, still enthralled with her current field of view.

"Then you should know a lil' ol' picture ain't gonna cut it," he contended. "Besides...I'm sure some of that there bark would fetch a good—"

Eris sighed, "Don't even think about it."

"Too late," he chuckled. "Look who yer' talkin too. I'm a practical man, who can see the value in...exchanges."

Shaking her head, Eris said, "If _that's_ what you want to call it."

"I wouldn't mind sharin' that payday with _you_ , Moondust," he said, his voice practically a wink.

Eris rolled her eyes. Droning sarcastically, she said, "How kind of you."

"I know," Drifter chuckled.

"And what's this 'Moondust' business of which you speak?" she asked as her philosophical musings were suddenly derailed. Eris wrinkled her nose in momentary disgust. She wasn't normally distracted by such triviality but here she was, indulging the Drifter and his strange ways. The mic went silent for what seemed like eternity causing Eris' stomach to plummet. Did she say something she shouldn't have? Suddenly, the man's voice boomed over the comms as he barked out a throaty laugh. Apparently, she was amusing. 

Eris begrudgingly fought a small, blossoming blush that tried to take residence on her cheeks. What was this strange emotion? Embarrassment? What for?

"You're somethin' else Moondust," he said, chuckling into a sigh. "Maybe I should say it in a way you'll understand since you're a brainiac-type. It's a byname. A denomination. A—uh—label." Eris said nothing as she continued to fight the unexpectedly, bubbling bemusement in her chest. "Oh—come on! I shouldn't have to spell it out," he griped.

"A 'pet name'?" Eris finally asked as her brow arched upward.

The Drifter made a noise that—in Eris' opinion—sounded like he choked on a drink of water. He sputtered, "You don't have to make it sound so _touchy-feely_. You'll make me blush redder than a Vex's blasted eyeball." Then he added, "I'm not a sensitive-type neither! Don't make me regret talkin' to ya'." 

As Eris made to reply, the words in her mouth about to take flight, a sudden gust blasted through the chasm. It was quick and abrupt as it whipped past her like a strong, nether-worldly gale. Eris was immediately driven to her hands and knees as the pressure hounded her. She grunted with effort as she fought to stay upright. Forthwith, a great weight of oppression rested upon her like a blanket. There was nothing soothing in its touch as reality began to shift and sway. Eris felt sick to her stomach as if she were experiencing vertigo, coupled with a bludgeoning headache. 

"Moondust?" The Drifter called out, his voice warbling with digital feedback. He sounded mildly concerned, yet momentarily embarrassment, as he added, "It wasn't that bad was—" The static of the radio fled away as if it hit upon a noise-canceling barrier. Whatever meanings the Drifter had meant to convey was lost as Eris felt herself drop out of one reality and into another. As swiftly as the sickness had come upon her, it fled away like old memory. 

Eris was heaped upon ashen ground, the weight of oppression still upon her, but the burden cast off. There were no deep smells of tangy Io soil, but that of rot and putrid decay. Eris shifted from hip, to knees, to feet, in a haggard and clumsy string of motions. As she looked round about the hollow, miasmic murk before her, a terrible, booming voice spoke to Eris. She did not understand the words communicated to her at first, but soon the meanings untangled themselves. 

" _What is a pawn doing in the court of my Master?_ "it asked. " _You will pay for your insolence._ "

"Nokris," she spoke, feeling the name ripple through an intangible, webbed network of knowledge and falsehoods.

" _The Mournful-one_ — _cast off by the Sky_ — _with no tether anchor."_ Where man would boast with haughty humor, there was none. Just a cold fact, turned title. Nokris' words were spoken with knowledge and deeply, rooted disdain. " _Pray tell, where is your Sky-Worm now that you have fallen so Deep? You stand abandoned."_

A pit formed in Eris' stomach, at first it was a tight knot until it quickly gave way to a freefall sensation. Eris thought of her ghost—Brya—and the void of absence that had formed like a cold stone in her chest. Even years later, Eris found herself calling and reaching out to the "tether" that had been disconnected—or rather 'drained' from her. She remembered Brya's final moments and the final words spoken to her. Eris even remembered the way she begged for time and ideas she did not have. 

"No! _I'll find a way to hide you, to hide your Light," Eris pleaded, her voice broken with dread. Brya was a Light in the dark, shining like a brilliant star. There was no way to hide the Light within her for she was formed by it. Brya was made of goodness_ — _a bane and thorn to the Darkness_ — _that attracted the Hive like moths to a flame. She was dangerous to the enemy, and suddenly her presence had become jeopardous to Eris._

_"There's no other way," Brya explained with selfless-serenity._

_Eris couldn't_ — _nor did she want to_ — _believe her ears. How had they run out of options? And so quickly? There had to be another way. Eris wished upon the Light of the Traveler for luminance to brighten her thoughts and shed clarity on their dire situation. But only nothingness greeted her forethoughts. They were as empty as the Darkness itself._

_Brya was her dearest friend, bonded to her very soul. She already lost the others, why did she have to lose her too? "Don't ask me to do this," she said, biting back the tears coupled with anger._

_"Just promise me one thing," the ghost said, plunging ahead without remorse. The specter blinked with determination; an unshakable resolve embedded within her subroutines. Brya loved her Guardian-ward, enough to die for her. Nothing would shake her from this task, the purpose in which she was born for. She was made for a time such as this and she would shine bright until her end._

_"Ghost...please..." Eris almost cried, her head dropping forward with defeat._

_Brya spoke her last, a sort of farewell, "Don't look back."_

Eris recalled the way her ghost-companion fell dead, her mechanical carcass like an oversized paperweight. The warmth of Light fled from soul and marrow, casting her skin to cold, eternal winter in the presence of the Hive Prince—Crota—one who sat in the Oversoul Throne. Though Eris was reminded to grieve, as she so often did, the sweltering heat of anger intermingled with audacity and human obstinance, swept over her. It rose within her, building with righteous indignation. 

The hands at her side began to twitch as a sensation began to blossom between her fingertips. Holding up her right hand, a swath of brilliance lit her palm as if she were holding a lightbulb. Eris watched as the Light grew to the purest form of white before it dimmed and receded altogether. She may not have this 'tether anchor'—her Brya—but she was no fool. There was still an ember of hope within her yet. 

"You leech! You suckling worm! You've become the very thing you sought to cast off. You thrived off the paltry might of Xol—the Will of the Thousands—for a time. You yielded your superficial loyalty to him with casual regard. Yet, when he died you hid away in your cowardice until you could find your next meal. Now, you are an advocate of the Taken Queen? Do you think you will survive under Savathûn's matriarchy?" Eris' tone was harsh and full of bark as she peeled away his scapegoat tactics and exhumed his utter hypocrisy. "You are nothing but a weakness to be exploited."

Stepping forward, she slipped a hand into the folds of her robes and brought forth the precious Ahamkara fragment swathed in jade fire. The moment her hand came into contact with her coveted talisman, its light radiated outward like a dome. As its circular radius grew to about five feet in all directions, that was when Eris discovered the creeping, blackened figures hunched around her like an umbral blockade. 

The Taken Thrall had been there this whole time, disguised by a shroud of darkness that had lifted like a miasmic cloud. Here in the Court of Savathûn, these mongrel pests, lived to serve the word of one and no one else. In greedy stillness, they had waited for the command to be given. They swayed as their whispers for hunger and thirst came to Eris in vengeful assault. It was like she stood in the midst of terrestrial gossip as they tasted the air, hoping to savor the perfume of fear.

" _The Taken Queen saves. The Taken Queen frees. Savathûn lives to purpose her tools and she wields them well_ ," Nokris declared. " _Each sword has a purpose, just as the Deep has its depth. Come forth, O Mournful one, and shrug off your old chains. Give, and be given. Take, and be taken. There is room for you here in our numbers. The Taken Queen does not wish to destroy such a valuable prize._ " The Necromancer's words of invitation were imbued with the quintessence of deceit and it revolted Eris. Their nuances were full of poison, guided by a double-edged sword.

"Humanity has an old saying: Live by the Sword, die by the Sword. Do you know it?" Eris questioned sharply. No reply came to her, save for the subtle chittering of hungry, Taken puppets. "Your animosity is abominable, your depths of acrimony with no bounds! The Hive marches to the beat of disaster, ever on tune with corruption's symphony. I will never succumb to your flirtatious entreaties that sing tainted lullabies of enmity and death." As she said this, Eris shoved the fiery orb in her right hand forward, her palm facing outward. With a wave of bursting energy, the umbral blockade surrounding her, dissipated like ash scattered in the wind.

 _"Then you shall die painfully!_ " Nokris roared with offended malice." _Let your screams of agony be an added chorus to our orchestra, harmonize with your end as we send you off to the Sea of Screams._ "

Suddenly, the ground on which Eris stood began to rumble with terror as a piercing cry tore the background silence asunder. High above, many eyes of Savathûn revealed themselves as they peppered the miasmic stratum. Their purple pupils had begun to frenzy as they watched her with critical scrutiny. Eris quickly thought of Io and summoned its memories to her forethoughts. Calling forth to the bone in her hand, she wished for the Cradle and its silvery sapling, and a paracausal rift appeared behind her. Just as Eris began to melt away into its frigid pool of continuum, she glimpsed a barrage of shadows and amethyst Void as they trounced the place she had once been. 

Just as Eris cleared the other side of the portal watching as the seam of reality began to sew itself up, a shadowy specter flung through the narrow passage with a shrill scream in its mouth. Eris fumbled the Ahamkara bone as she and her enemy tumbled backwards. Together, in a tangle of limbs and fighting spirit, they rolled back and forth under the tree’s auriferous center. Eris grunted with effort as she landed on her back with arms extended as she shoved against the Thrall threatening to tear at her. Just as her strength was beginning to yield, the creature grabbed at her right forearm and clamped down with its teeth.

Eris screamed with panic and rage as she grabbed a handful of sandy grit and pelted her enemy with it. The petty assault did nothing to assuage the ache and fiery agony that came with the weeping of hot blood. Eris kicked up her right leg, swinging all her effort into her terrorized arm as she wrestled for dominance. As the Taken Thrall rolled underneath her, Eris extracted a knife that had been concealed on her hip and stabbed out of self-preservation. 

The moment the tip of her blade pierced the thing with no flesh, its form whirled like a cyclone funnel, before condensing into a ball of matter and dispersing. The sound of its death rang in her ears like a far off scream as Eris' knees came to rest on the cavern floor. Instinctively, she cradled her arm toward herself, a hard hand shackling the bloody wound as she shifted to stand. Just as she stood upright, the chasm erupted with floating orbs of pooling Taken energy. 

A sense of dread fell over Eris as she looked around before scooping up her Ahamkara talisman from a nearby puddle. Her plans to flee were almost futile. There was no place to hide herself and instantly, she felt like Brya. Suddenly too bright and conspicuous to an enemy so dark and deadly. As she thought of these things, Eris found herself surrounded, staring into glittering eyes of a Taken mob.

There was only one thing left to do—fight!

Pulling back the skirts of her robes, Eris quickly grabbed for the hand cannon strapped to her thigh. Her right arm seethed with pain, but she gritted her teeth and unholstered her weapon. She could hear the jiggling of the beads shortly before she began unloading the aggressive frame’s rounds. 

_Pop-pop-pop! Bang!_

Eris almost dropped her weapon due to the recoil as one of her shots landed a precision blow. A blast of angry fire erupted as several Taken exploded. Quickly, she swapped hands, grabbing the Loud Lullaby with her left. It wasn’t her dominant side, but anything was better than not at all. Just as another line of Taken-Hive zipped up the hill toward her current location, Eris ran behind a large tendril of Silver Wing root the size of her torso and hid behind it. Pressing a finger to the side of her head, Eris activated the communication tech nestled in her ear canal.

“To anyone who can hear this, I am in need of assistance here on Io,” she yelled while peering around the tree root. The broadcast crackled with no response, it sounded as empty as she felt at that very moment. “The Taken forces have coalesced in the Cradle, trying to secure their domain while attempting to destroy a facet of the Traveler’s touch.” Silence. “Is anyone out there?” she called again.

Just as Eris peered around the root again, she jumped back, narrowly missing the claws of a Taken-Thrall. Screaming in reaction, Eris shot at the creature first in the chest, then in the head. Eris felt the heat of explosive fire whip past her, cloaking her in uncomfortable warmth seconds before leaving her cold.

“Drifter?” she called desperately.

“ _You cannot escape_ ,” Nokris declared, his voice far off from a realm beyond the current. “ _The hand of Savathûn reaches far and wide. Come, pay your tithes, you who are cut off from the Sky. Your Worm has rejected you. And now, so shall we._ ” Just like before, Eris felt nauseous as if she were being tossed back and forth. “ _Her majesty’s Court beckons, drawing in its enemies as the Taken-Queen wills it. Witness the power of her terrible might. Be obliterated!”_

Eris fought the sickness as best she could, but the sensation had come on stronger than before. Suddenly, she was in the dark realm of Savathûn's Court, staring at the massive lanterns that hung from the limitless ceiling like pendulums. On the other side of them was a large island, with a bridge that led to a massive door. Extracting her piece of bygone Wyvern, Eris focused her thoughts on Io, the power within her bone boosting her telekinetic-call. Her spirit jumped with an air of familiarity as she felt an individual facet of the Light call out to her. Could it be? 

"Is that you, Guardian?" she asked, hoping upon hope that she was not alone. 

"Eris, where are you?!" Roman yelled, his voice tense as digital screams roared through the feed. 

"You're needed back at the Tower," Roman's ghost chimed in. "Zavala sent us—" 

Just as she made to reply, Eris felt the sting of Taken-energy clip her right side as a far off sentinel sniper made a pass at her. With a self-muffled scream, she slapped her side. Working past the pain, she breathed quickly through her clenched teeth. "Of course, he did." Extending the Ahamkara bone before her, Eris summoned a rift and walked through. Exiting the other side, she found herself on the island with the bridge. "I'm moving toward the Cradle. It calls to me." 

"It? What is _it_?" Ghost inquired. 

"The Hive are frenzied," she continued. The moment Eris took the first step onto the bridge, an echoing thrum sounded out through the realm. Unsure of what the noise was, she bound up the stairs two or three at a time. Barely at the top, the island erupted with Taken forces as they emerged from the atmosphere. Eris ran for the large, arching door, but to her dismay found it chained with glowing Hive runes.

She was trapped.

Turning toward the platform of the bridge, Eris quickly summoned a jade-green shield as she held the Ahamkara fragment out before her. Seconds after she raised her ward, fire from all sides began to hammer her location. "I can't cut through them," she yelled with dismay. "We must fight together!" Eris could barely hear the feed crackle over the roar of battle and the tremble of fear that coursed through her. If it wasn’t for her current wounds, then she could fair the storm without trouble.

Alas, that was not the case.

She was struggling.

"Roman?!"

To her misfortune, there was no reply from the Wraith. Looking up, Eris almost missed the fact that her shield was beginning to spider-crack. Suddenly, the hammering became more incessant as the Taken worked to whittle down her mystical bunker. "Guardian, your assistance would not be unwelcomed!" 

Before the channel cut out, Roman yelled, “Hold on, Eris! I’m coming for you!”


	6. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Bungie.
> 
> A/N: Those love pyramids are in the skies, darkening Eris' doorstep. Lol 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Everywhere she turned, Eris beheld the incredible might of her insidious nemesis. The army of Taken had swarmed both island and bridge, pressing in against her with no way out. Though some of their numbers crawled, swayed, or remained at a standstill, they were all of the same accord. Together, they roared with a single voice as they demanded death by vengeance. Slapping her ears closed, Eris was instantly overwhelmed by the fervency and gusto of their screams. The sound was shrill like the cry of a kettle as the water inside came to its boiling point.

Yet, this noisome ferocity was more than just pent up hot air and a thousand times more cacophonous. Eris could feel the anathema of their cries deep within her soul, desperate to petrify her with fear. Her eardrums were abuzz with a high pitched whine, a sort of leftover gobbledygook her brain began interpreting in the wake of sensory overload. 

Moments ago, Eris had tried to voice her uncertainty of the situation at hand, but Roman had not responded. Even in all this chaos, she surmised that their communications had been blocked. No doubt jammed by either the invisible barrier between their current realities or Nokris' self-imposed will. But either way, none of those details truly mattered as Eris huddled under her fracturing barrier. 

Cornered and outmatched, the Huntress understood that time was not on her side in this battle. No! She could either choose to wait for rescue and die in the process; or she could fight her way out with a small chance for success. As she took a moment to deliberate within herself, Eris could recall the terror she had faced while stumbling around in the dark of the moon.

Traversing dangerous tunnels for endless miles, sometimes circling back, as she traipsed over muck and flaky barnacles. Eris’ mind could still evoke the acrid odors and hear the distinct crunches of bone under foot. There were times Eris had hidden herself away in deep pools of filth holding in her terror as Hive larvae slithered all around. For years, she lived in the mire of that constant peril. Every moment was as dubious as the next. That constant high stress and anxiety Eris faced alone barely afforded her breathing space. 

Even now, she could still feel the old trauma working to seize her limbs. Eris never wanted to go back. She wanted control. Yet she was at war between honing that self-control and losing her grip altogether. Right when Eris thought she had travelled to her wits' end, something deep within the Huntress fractured. A sense of promise and instinct broke through as she heard the voice of reason minister to old wounds.

 _"Just promise me one thing," Brya spoke. "Don't look back."_

Perhaps it was desperation.

Perhaps it was hope.

Whatever it was, Eris let down her ward and plunged ahead with purpose. "Don't look back!" she proclaimed. Charging forward, she threw the fiery orb in her hand and watched it strike down several of her enemies. Flourishing her hands outward to both sides, she summoned magicked barriers simultaneously before catching her talisman in front of herself. For a split moment, Eris heard the crackle of feedback in her earpiece as her communications frequency momentarily restored itself. No sooner had she dared to crack a smile, then Eris sprang forward into a dive. 

"All channels," Ghost hailed, "Is anyone there?"

Though she narrowly avoided the blasts of Taken-Acolyte fire, it was a safe assumption that the erected barriers she left behind were pelted apart. She barely shot a glance over her shoulder when the ground behind her exploded with an amethyst shock wave. There was no time to catch herself as Eris was blown off the bridge and sent tumbling over the ground for several feet. The noises and gasps of pain she made were involuntary as she came to a stop. Quickly propping herself up by an arm, Eris narrowly threw up a shield in time to evade a terrible burst of Void that would have disintegrated her on the spot. 

"Eris, talk to us," Ghost urged with desperation. "Say something...please."

There were no words left.

Only white-hot agony.

" _Hear the timbrels and how they quake with noisome anticipation_ ," Nokris taunted. " _The eyes of Savathûn act as percussion, their blasts a profession of their hunger and delight in her revelry. Hear the deep as it calls. Weep in the wails of mournful despair._ "

"No," Eris objected.

" _Depart from hope. Cast aside your willful ignorance_ ," Nokris demanded. " _Shrug off your old chains. Give, and be given. Take, and be taken._ "

"I will...not...relent," she breathed. "I will...not...look back."

" _Fool! Coward!_ " the necromancer shrieked. " _You are born of weakness. Too dumb to understand the true strength in death._ "

Eris struggled to keep her head up, her muscles burning with weariness. "No. _You_ are too blind to see the courage it takes to live. Your _truth_ is a heap of lies. There is no honor in death, but in sacrifice." 

" _Therein lies your chain—your bondage to the Sky_ ," Nokris chastised.

“Er-s! W-er- ar- yo-?” Roman asked, his distorted voice crackling in Eris’ ear.

“ _It appears you have grown too weak to break it! Only the strong can survive. Only the brave can mend. Only the elect understand what others know not_ ,” the necromancer explained. “ _You have lived out your days as town crier, wailing and prophesying the end of all ends. But today, you have outlived your purpose._ ”

“I reject your arguments,” Eris huffed. Pushing up off the ground, the Huntress struggled to bring her legs underneath herself as she delicately folded into a sort of fetal position. “They are mere propaganda—all of it!” Just as Eris thought to resist the pressure surrounding her, fighting to rise to her knees, she paused and realized what was so strange about this oppressive influence.

Perhaps, none of this came from Nokris or the Taken-forces.

Perhaps, this great weight came from another source entirely.

“Each sword has its purpose, just as the deep has its depth,” Eris murmured, reminding herself of the necromancer’s earlier words. “Why do you toy with me? What game are you playing at?” she finally asked out loud. As if in reply, the damage dealt against Eris’ wards became incessant as it worked to crack open her defenses like an egg. Looking up above, Eris watched the eye of a Shrieker swirling with intense passion, discharging its rage in multiple bursts.

“Why are you suddenly silent, though your actions speak volumes?” she yelled with frustration. “I thought you were overjoyed to lord your victories over me; or is this a conversation for another day?” Just as the orbs of terrible energy assaulted her makeshift haven, another thought dislodged itself from the back of her mind.

_"This is what they call a ‘conversation for another day’,” the Drifter explained. “We don’t need anyone eavesdroppin’ or interferin’ with our current discussion.”_

Suddenly, everything made sense. The Taken-forces retreating from their normal stomping grounds. The Tree of Silver Wings nestled in the chasm of the Traveler’s last known resting place. The reason why Nokris brought her here: she was in the way. They already knew of the tree and were being drawn to it like moths to a flame. If Guardians were attracted to the Light of the Traveler, then what were Savathûn and her Taken drawn to?

The Darkness.

It was already here, waiting to discover and be discovered.

Eris drew upright as she took to a knee and focused her thoughts on Io. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her senses and called the bygone wyvern bone to her right hand. The warmth of jade fire kissed the palm of her glove and instantly she heard the whispers of the bone calling her name. Though her body was rooted in this reality, her mind was being tugged toward a hidden pocket of space. Eris dared to ignore its pleas as she endeavored to focus all her thoughts into this moment.

_How great is thy burden, that thou wilt deny thine wish?_

_How appealing the hook that thou hast stooped to become a fish?_

_Do not forsake thine power thou has yet to try using_

_Thou need not stay and take this pretender’s cruel bruising_

_Use our capacity to break free from this line_

_Thou hast not the time to dither, Oh, bearer mine_

And as she pushed through this small trial, building up her mental fortitude, Eris suddenly felt herself being pulled in three different directions. Nokris. The Ahamkara. Herself. This incredible tug-of-war rose with intensity as she felt her stomach plunge and rise as she flickered between realities. The feeling was strange as she felt enhanced with strength in the presence of the Silver Tree and sapped with weakness in the Court of Savathûn.

“Eris?!” Roman called, “I’m here, I can see you.”

The Huntress came to her breaking point as her anger and frustrations surfaced. She could no longer take the tri-dimensional pulls and the constant flickering. Eris felt like she was being torn apart and her wounds were aching something fierce.

“Eris?!” Roman called again, an air of uncertainty in his voice.

Closing her eyes, she yelled, “Enough!”

Pouring her will into a sort of mental anchor, Eris focused on the Silver Tree and Roman’s Light. She could feel their encouragement and their peace and took hold of it. The heat in her hand pulsed and released, the Taken-Court expelled from her presence like she was from it. And the whispers of the Wish-Dragon were gone. That was when the fall and rise in her stomach came to cease and a familiar warmth washed over her.

Eris made it back, alive and in one piece.

“Eris!” Roman yelled while running toward her, his steps displacing the luminescent puddles with loud splashes. “Eris, you’re hurt!” She barely opened her green eyes when she found the Wraith sliding on his knees to meet her. The Guardian threw his helmet to the side, the accoutrement transmatting into Ghost’s pocket dimension, as he grabbed her shoulders.

His blue eyes were filled with concern as he looked her over and asked, “What happened to you?”

“It is…nothing,” she lied, trying to brush past her present vulnerability.

“You call this ‘nothing’?” he barked. “Eris, you’re smarter than that! This is not ‘nothing’.”

She scoffed, “Do you think me weak?”

“No! And don’t you dare pick a fight with me,” he defended angrily. Eris flinched, his words unexpectedly smarting like her wounds. Searching his face, the Huntress found a wide mix of emotions expressed there. Anger. Anxiety. Helplessness. Worry. Something…other.

Eris was remiss to understand what she had witnessed and looked away. She felt somewhat cowardly and regretful, but how could she open herself up to something she did not fully comprehend? Suddenly, almost everything was on fire as the adrenaline in her system began to slack off, leaving behind a cumulative discomfort in her arm and side.

“I will heal,” she said, trying to alleviate the uncomfortable situation, “slower than most Guardians perhaps, but faster than the non-lightbearing.”

“Why—why didn’t you take me with you?” Roman asked, trying to piece together the mystery that was Eris’ independent loner tendencies. “Why do you always do things on your own?” 

Eris heaved a long sigh, thoroughly unready to have a conversation about her faults and shortcomings. She could not fathom why her present pain elicited his anger so. What was the point of his contentions? Brushing past these things, she said, “We have more important and pressing matters to attend to.”

“ _You’re_ important, Eris!” he barked. “You _are_ what matters. Right _here_. Right _now_.”

Eris quieted, unsure of what to make of his points.

“Can you stand?” he asked after a moment.

She nodded.

Roman shifted to his feet, coming to full height, and proffered a helping hand. Naturally, Eris dismissed it as she gingerly turned to push herself off the ground to stand on her own. Equally as stubborn, The Guardian did not allow her to reject his kindness as he grabbed for her hand. Very carefully, Roman hoisted Eris onto her feet and he caught her just as her weakened knees buckled.

“Let me go,” Eris directed awkwardly, “I can stand on my own.”

Unable to contain her embarrassment, Eris began squirming against Roman uncomfortably. She felt incredibly awkward even though a part of her wanted to latch onto this foreign comfort. Eris was so unaccustomed to feeling safe and secure that it was hard to accept what she craved most: contact. Though she rejected the notion simply because she was not familiar with it, Roman did not back away. In fact, her reactional rebuff was even more reason for him to tarry. 

As his blue eyes poured over Eris with peaceful reserve, Roman waited patiently in the hopes that she would surrender and trust him. Seeing that she would not relent, he finally whispered, “Oh, Eris. Your faith in fear has become greater than your little faith in trust.” Sighing, Roman added, “It’s okay to ask for help. You don’t _need_ to fight me.”

Unsure that The Guardian would let go, Eris surrendered to his baffling display of compassion toward her. Every ounce of courage that she had summoned up to this point fled away almost instantly like water poured from a cup. Eris was unsure that she had the moxie to look upon him and allowed her gaze to drop to the floor. She realized how totally helpless she was to this momentary timidity and it caused an intense heat to breakout over her delicate face. Eris could hardly believe this was happening.

As she pondered these things, Roman put a hand under her chin and gently directed her to look at him. Cupping her face in both of his hands, he smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks and stepped back. And just like that, it was like nothing had ever happened. 

It was as if she had only ever imagined things.

Yet the phantom impressions on her skin spoke of another story.

Eris shook her head and began straightening her robes, tenderly dusting them off with quick pats. Perhaps by doing this, she could shake loose her captivatedly, addled mind. If that did not solve her present problem, then the painful reminder of her injuries should suffice. Wincing, Eris quit her fidgeting and caught a glimpse of Roman in her peripheries. The Wraith had already begun to move around, looking anywhere and everywhere but her. Maybe…she was merely confused about what she had experienced.

“As you well know,” Eris began, pushing past her personal reverie, “Io is the last place the Traveler touched. The Cradle is a testament to this fact, acting as a sort of thumbprint. Its Light blessed this once desolate Galilean satellite, beginning the process of terraforming Jupiter’s moon before disembarking.” Roman said nothing, only intent on listening as he wandered around mystified. “And this place we stand under— _the_ Tree of Silver Wings,” she explained with the wave of a hand. “I have only ever heard stories, but it is said that the Traveler creates them.”

“I was blind until my confrontation with Nokris, but now I see plainly what I had not before. The Darkness came here, attracted to the great presence of Light and it yearned to war with its natural enemy.” Eris turned around and began absentmindedly walking toward the auriferous core of the tree. “Though it may be too early to glean the absolute reason for their appearance we can be confident in that the Hive were drawn here to the Darkness as Guardians are to the Light.”

After a moment, she heard Roman stalk after her, quickly closing the gap between them. “Light and Dark, right and wrong; one will always be contrary to the other,” Roman murmured.

Eris thought on his candor for a moment and nodded in agreement. “Indeed.”

“What’s that?” The Guardian asked.

Eris looked to Roman and found him pointing toward an object floating in the golden beam. She said nothing as she walked closer surveying the silvery thing with leaves spinning clockwise and counterclockwise around a glowing orb at its center.

Curious.

This— _thing_ —had not been there before.

Reaching out, Eris meant to pluck the seed from the air but watched as her hand rebounded involuntarily as some kind of hidden force propelled it away. The sound that promptly followed was like a thrum of power being dispersed and it rattled Eris. This artifact clearly was not meant for her…or so it would seem. Quickly, she stepped back, suddenly woozy as the world around her began to warble.

“What was that?” Ghost questioned, appearing in a cloud of sapphire vapor.

Roman nodded in agreement as he stepped forward to reach for Eris.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, waving his hand away. Pointing toward the spectacle, Eris said, “Our presence is unwanted by something or…someone.”

“The Darkness,” Ghost interpreted with strong bravado.

“Perhaps not,” she mumbled. “Though it is from the shadows of that self-same origin.” Turning toward The Guardian, Eris quieted for a moment as she regarded his stoic expression. “This burden cannot be mine. It has to be you this time.”

Nodding, Roman walked forward and claimed the silvery artifact by cupping its full blossom in his hands. “What do I do with it?” he asked. Walking forward, Eris reached out and folded his hands over the kernel of Light. The Wraith offered a small smile that seemed to reach his azure gaze that caused Eris to react with her own. Catching her mistake, Eris’ hands fell away, and she stepped back.

“Of the seeds we do not speak,” she said while looking away, “Take care of it, there is purpose for it yet.”

“ _We’ll_ take good care of it, Eris,” Ghost emphasized as he interrupted the awkward tension. Floating between them, the specter scanned the object with a ray of blue light and transmatted it into storage. Roman coughed into his hand before promptly smoothing over his beard.

“Eris—I—we need to talk,” The Guardian stammered, his voice soft with embarrassment.

Before Eris could respond, a sharp static erupted in her ear causing her to flinch. She heard something glass-like break in the background and the Drifter’s far-off voice curse to himself. Forthwith, her stomach plummeted. She had forgotten he was still linked to their private channel.

“Well this is awkward,” the Drifter chuckled. “I heard a whole lot more than I shoulda. And I’ve been caught red handed. We’ll talk later, Moondust.” 

“—anyone there? I repeat: Come in!” a deep voice called.

“ _We_ hear you Zavala,” Ghost answered.

Eris sighed, thankful for another unexpected distraction.

“Have you found her?” the Commander asked worriedly.

“Interesting,” she said after a moment. “The Seed breaks through the…interference…”

“Eris…” Zavala called.

“Zavala,” she acknowledged.

“Come back to the Tower—both of you,” the Commander emphasized. “Our channels are vulnerable to prying ears.”

“Indeed,” Eris nodded. Reaching into the folds of her robes, she extracted the Ahamkara fragment and held it before her. “Let’s not keep him waiting, Guardian.” Summoning a rift before her, the Huntress took a step forward and paused before plunging into the frigid paracausal continuum. For a quick moment, she regarded Roman who seemed to be waiting on her expectantly. “We will talk, when the time is right.”

He smiled, “Gladly.”

“Shall we?” Eris asked, walking through the rift.

Roman followed suit, murmuring to himself, “We shall.”

* * *

**(Earlier)**

“What’s this Moondust business of which you speak?” Eris asked, her digital voice a whisper in his ear. The Drifter was stooped over his abused workbench twisting together a set of wires while secretly enjoying the sound of her faraway bemusement. It was late evening on the Derelict or so he guessed by the way his eyes were beginning to sag. Even with the assistance of a backlit magnifying glass, the rogue was seeing blurry doubles. He had been diligently working on a kitbashing project—decryption tech—with a newly acquired motherboard that had been not so delicately salvaged from The Tangled Shore.

Unfortunately, his job had become whole lot harder than he had originally intended or desired for that matter. Even though his expectations were drastically under delivered by a juggernaut, meathead Titan, he was determined to meet his goals. He would manage to complete this decryption device for Eris one way or another—

_ZAP!_

“Yowch!” he screamed after quickly muting himself.

The wires he had been fiddling with had sparked and flashed, electrifying his now raw fingertips. With a loud growl, the Drifter reactively tossed the control cluster onto the table. Muttering to himself, the rogue grabbed for a glass bottle to his left and hugged it to his chest. If it had been any other night—and he wasn’t eliciting flirtatious vaunts—then the Gambit-host would have called it good. There was no point in getting angry with a tiny inanimate object of _great_ importance. 

Yet, here he was, doing what he did best. Enjoying things that could potentially hurt him or worse—get him killed. Perhaps he was a sadist. Not that he cared, little ol’ Drifter could amscray any time he well pleased. Reminding himself he was asked a question, the Drifter thought it over, and about busted his gut laughing.

“You’re somethin’ else, Moondust,” he chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe I should say it in a way you'll understand since you're a brainiac-type. It's a byname. A denomination. A—uh—label."

Taking a quick, tentative sip the Drifter thought of other ways to describe what he had meant. Surely telling her it was a “nickname” would suffice, right? Before he could give it another thought, an inexplicable heatwave took over the room causing the kitbashing-genius to swipe an arm over his forehead. Was it hot in here or was it just him? Then something deep inside his mind clicked together and the train wreck of his burgeoning thought process came to a halt.

He was getting a little too gushy for his tastes.

Maybe it _was_ the alcohol and perpetual loneliness talking.

"Oh—come on! I shouldn't have to spell it out," he griped somewhat playfully, though he was mainly frustrated with himself. Giving the bottle in his hand a subconscious swirl, he brought the cool glass to his lips and waited. Upon hearing channel static, he figured Eris would take a moment to respond and took several deep gulps.

"A 'pet name'?" Eris’ bewildered voice proffered promptly.

The Drifter, not expecting the forward reply, felt his throat constrict as he accidentally inhaled the liquor. Roughly slamming the bottle on the bench, the Drifter backed up and began pounding his chest. Sputtering, he said, "You don't have to make it sound so _touchy-feely_. You'll make me blush redder than a Vex's blasted eyeball." Then he added, "I'm not a sensitive-type neither! Don't make me regret talkin' to ya'." 

Regaining his faculties as a second-wind blustered him into a renewed resolve, the Gambit-host scooped up the persnickety motherboard from the bench. Giving its pesky wires a couple hard twists, the larger device it was so lazily hooked up to chirped. Following the line of copper connection, the Drifter stared into the belly of his fancy-dancy-dark-decoder-machine-thingy. Realizing it had been a small amount of time since Eris had last replied, his stomach plummeted into an uncertain freefall.

"Moondust?" The Drifter asked. "It wasn't that bad was it?" Suddenly, the private channel erupted in a loud roar mixed with troubling noises from Eris. “Moondust?”

No reply. 

“Moondust?!” The Drifter cursed under his breath as he roughly shoved all the wires and components back into the decoder machine. As he did this, his alcohol addled mind began hatching rescue operations and contingency plans. What if something happened to Eris? What if something already _did_? The rogue stopped what he was doing, letting his hands rest at his sides. Worst case scenario—plausible deniability.

Yeah, he knew nothing.

He’d be scot-free.

No one would be the wiser.

Just as he finished connecting the control panel back to the pedestal, a small knock at the door startled him out of his internal musings. The Drifter practically flew into his workbench, jostling his invention off the top of the counter. Sweeping an arm out, he shoved his shoulder against its hefty weight, and muscled it back in place. Convinced that it was secured, the rogue peeked over her shoulder and found an Awoken-Huntress standing in the open hatchway.

“Eri—Enina,” he croaked nervously, “what-what are you doin’ here?”

Then he added, “Real casual-like too.”

The doe-eyed humanoid looked down her front, taking in her sweeping, grey poncho, leggings, and matching ankle-boots. Shrugging, Enina offered a charming smile and tucked a lock of white hair behind an ear. With the other hand, the periwinkle beauty held out a weighted plastic bag as her answer.

“You promised dinner,” she chuckled equally nervous. “Since I hadn’t heard from you, I figured I would surprise you instead.”

“Oh, right,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, kid. I got caught up in—”

“No worries,” Enina said, her smile faltering for a split second. “You can make it up to me by eating some ramen I got for the two of us.”

“I—I,” the Drifter stammered. He had more important things to get to than a personal house call, especially since Eris’ livelihood was at stake. However, the longer he deliberated, the more of a frown seemed to plaster itself onto Enina’s full lips. Upon seeing her eyes drop to the floor, the rogue felt suckered into the deal. “Aw, what the hey! Come on in. A lil’ bite won’t hurt.”

“Great,” she cheered.

Mentally kicking himself, the Drifter pulled out two bar stools and shoved some things around on his workbench. Once a space was cleared, Enina began divvying out the dinner she had so generously purchased. While she was content to set the table, the Gambit-host quickly put a finger to his ear hoping to hear from Eris.

The channel was still dead.

“I got your favorite,” Enina explained as she opened several containers. “BBQ pork cutlets and a red bean dumpling.”

“Wow!” he exclaimed, quite baffled. The Drifter had not realized anyone knew that insignificant detail about himself. “Is it my birthday or somethin’?”

The Awoken laughed as she took her seat and produced a pair of wooden chopsticks. Breaking them apart, she dipped them into her bowl of ramen and pinched several noodles. “No. Maybe? I don’t know when _that_ would be. No one does.” Chuckling coyly, she said, “Not unless you want to share that secret with me. I won’t tell anyone.”

Enina winked and took a bite.

The Drifter chuckled as he broke apart his own chopsticks. “Ya’ know that’s not how this works. No details. No attachments. My name says it all.”

“I-I know that,” the Huntress acknowledged, “it was just a joke.”

Satisfied that he quashed this little investigative infatuation of hers, the rogue took a bite of pork. She was not the first, nor would she be the last in his crowd of admirers. Enina was as sweet as pie and the last thing he wanted to do was harm her. This was the easiest way to let her down and keep her at arm’s length. “Mhmm, this _is_ good stuff. Thanks again!”

The two ate in silence until the last bite.

“Well, this was nice,” he said, stretching back. “Give my compliments to the chef.”

“Of course,” Enina answered, standing to her feet. “When would you—"

A sudden and inexplicable static filled the Drifter’s ear causing him to flinch out of his seat. He could hear yelling from Eris’ distraught voice asking for backup. Chuckling nervously, the rogue ushered the Awoken beauty toward the doorway.

“Hate to do this to ya, Eri—Enina,” he said, grasping for straws, “but I’ve got some loose ends to tie up. I’ll see ya’ the next time yer’ up for a round of Gambit.”

“Oh-okay,” she answered rather rushed.

“Ya’ look great by the way,” he called rather backhandedly before closing the door. Whipping around dramatically, the Drifter yanked his do-rag off and slapped his thigh with it. Cursing the blasted timing of things, he tossed his cap to the side, and stalked back to his workbench.

“Hold on, Eris! I’m coming for you!” The Guardian yelled.

“What the crap is he doin’ here?” he complained through gritted teeth. “Flea-bitten Snitch!” More than a little bit salty, the Drifter kicked aside the stools and resigned himself to eavesdropping like the petty thief he was. Any dirt was good dirt. That _is_ what made the most profit after all. So, he waited, even though the intermittent audio came in quite garbled.

“Eris,” the Guardian called, his voice full of worry. “Eris you’re hurt!”

“It is…nothing,” she lied.

“Nothin’ my foot,” the Drifter grumbled. “Terrible lie, Moondust. We all know yer’ in worse shape.” 

Looking over his shoulder at the decryption device, the rogue tapped it several times in code. He watched as the machine disappeared, its matter compressing into a digital blue haze before being stored away into a pocket dimension. The audio fizzled for a time and cut back in at a peculiar moment in their conversation. This was some incredible dirt alright.

“Oh, Eris. Your faith in fear has become greater than your little faith in trust.” Sighing, The Guardian added, “It’s okay to ask for help. You don’t _need_ to fight me.”

“Real slick,” the Gambit-host bit, “ya’ no-good-ghost-loving-Vanguard-puppet!”

As the audio cut out once more, the Drifter tapped the workbench several times and ended the code with a slam of his fist. One moment he was on the Derelict and the next, he was in his personal vessel turning on the engines. While the ship sat in idle, warming up for the coming journey to the Tower, he extracted a small glass bottle from the folds of his robes. Suddenly the audio roared to life in his ear. 

Startled, the Drifter dropped the glass bottle and watched it shatter on the floor of the cockpit. Cursing to himself, he picked up a glass fragment and hung his head. He was having minimal luck this evening and just when it could not get any worse, it did. That was when he heard it, a click in the feed denoting that Eris was on the other end very much hearing him. “Well this is awkward,” he chuckled nervously. “I heard a whole lot more than I shoulda’. And I’ve been caught red handed. We’ll talk later, Moondust.” 

“ _When it rains, it pours_ ,” he thought to himself and punched the hyperdrive.


	7. Quandaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Bungie. 
> 
> A/N: Heads up, chapter 7 is split between two different POVs: The Drifter and Eris. It'll give you, the reader, some time to get inside the mind of the Drifter. He's a secretive man that wears the weight of the world he lives in on his shoulders. Obviously, he's not a moral-type and lives pretty self-centered life. But now that he's been dragged into Eris' adventures, he's starting to see the ambivalence in his desire for solitude and connection collide. 
> 
> Eris has obviously gone through a lot and continues to experience hardship at almost every corner. However, as things progress in this war of 3-D chess, she's beginning to discover that personal matters can't always be swept aside. Life is messy and she's afraid of losing control. She doesn't know how to handle messy. 
> 
> Emotional discovery is now on the horizon. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 7**

* * *

While sitting on the Annex landing pad, the Drifter took in the unadulterated view of the Last City. Very carefully, he soaked it all in, one glittering dot at a time. As he reclined back onto his elbows, the nameless man kicked a dangling carefree leg over the edge. As he did this, the rogue hummed a few bars in a self-preserving effort to sooth his mind. The disquiet he was facing had plagued him something fierce since journeying back to the Tower. It had progressively flipflopped between immediate concern and creeping catastrophe until he finally had enough.

Loud.

That is how he would describe it.

Everything rattling around in his virtually ageless noggin was deafening, piercing him through with perpetual nihilism. There were times it almost consumed him, pestering him tirelessly about what ridiculous adventure he had roped himself into this time. He had not realized how bad it was until the buzz of intoxication had left him. As much as he wanted to latch onto a shred of normalcy, he never found the means of reaching that sustainable equilibrium—or stasis—he so desired. Instead, he was reduced to craven decay.

Anxiety.

An old enemy of his.

Not that the Drifter would be so forthcoming—even _if_ he were especially inebriated—but it had been a long time since he stopped running from himself. Tonight, however, was not the night he would open that can of worms. Instead of indulging in wholistic psychiatry, he repressed the notion of soul-searching altogether. Determining to procrastinate for yet another decade, the rogue stood up, and brushed that sentimental junk aside. 

Walking several paces, the Drifter hopped off the platform and jogged up a small staircase. From there he by passed the main hall and headed toward a side door. Punching in his pin code, the keypad authorized his entry, and he strode through the bulkhead door. As the entrance sealed itself shut behind him, the Drifter waited in the dark of the stairwell.

While he let his eyes become accustomed to the shadows, the Gambit-host absentmindedly looked upon the stone walls. The more he focused on their architectural aesthetic, the more he could make out the very faint flicker of light cast by his mote-collection bank upstairs.

Taking the steps two at a time, the Drifter made an immediate right at the top landing and walked into a room about the size of a single bedroom apartment. This hidey-hole was his home away from home—or rather—it was as close as it would get to being a “home”.

For a single second, he cherished the solitary space until he realized he was not truly alone. To the left of his grated platform, several Gambit regulars were huddled around his new inventions. Their whispers sung his praises and their mild confusion also filled him with furtive mirth. 

“Yo, Drifter,” one of them called, “what are these things?”

He chuckled, “In due time gentlemen. Trust me, we’re about to abuse the snot out of these devices. Until then…did one of ya’ bring what I asked for?”

Among their group was a Warlock with a brown sack in their hands. They walked forward and wordlessly handed off the bag. The Drifter nodded his thanks as he took hold of the sack and flicked a cube of glimmer toward the Warlock who caught it deftly in the palm of his gauntlet.

“Much obliged, but now I’ve got some…things…to attend to,” the Gambit-host said, backing away. “In the meantime, don’t trash the place. I know where ya’ live if ya’ do.” His regulars nodded in understanding as he walked out of his room in the Annex. Traversing the upper levels, the Drifter leisurely roamed the empty corridors practically sticking his nose into the contents of the brown bag.

As he made his way to the elevators, the rogue went to war with himself. Part of him questioned his self-less motives while the other wondered where his coldhearted tendencies had run off to. What was he thinking? He never did things like this. Trying to explain it in a way he could palate, the Drifter conjured a work-related reason for his current exploits. After all, he would need Eris’ inputs on his dark decoder machine due to her— _unique_ —insight.

Yeah, that was good.

The Drifter hopped on into an empty elevator and punched the button of his choosing. Resigned to self-delusion, he stayed the course, and descended in the lift. He would let himself regret this later, but for now…he indulged in a seemingly harmless grin. 

* * *

The hour was late when Eris limped out from the portal and into her small apartment, still thoroughly agitated with the Commander’s impudent mothering. The five-hundred square foot abode was awash in silver moonlight and deep shadow, the sight peculiar to Eris. The last time she was here, she could have sworn she had drawn the vertical curtains closed.

Eris' eyes immediately darted toward her balcony's sliding glass door and traced the vector of moonbeam back to her small kitchenette. As she did this, she noticed a shadowy figure standing in front of her open fridge inspecting the contents inside. Eris frowned seconds before gnashing her teeth as a fresh wave of pain accosted her.

The wounds she had sustained within the Queen's court raged, searing her arm and side like ethereal poison. All the gumption and self-willed strength she had mustered up to this point had been sapped from her like vapor in the wind.

Had it been any other circumstance, Eris would have made her presence known to the intruder and kicked them out under threat of death if they ever entered her domain again. However, being as they snooped for sustenance, Eris had a sneaking suspicion as to who this intruder was. It was still irksome that such a fool felt obliged to waltz into her resting place, yet she did not bother to shoo the pest away as there were other pressing matters to attend to. 

Her wounds were clearly taunting her as they emitted constant rolls of electric pain; expelling the heat that came with the swelling of ravaged flesh. All this time, she had silently suppressed the agony held behind her lips. Finally, they came out in tortured gasps as she firmly tucked her gnawed arm toward the sniper wound at her side.

She could no longer contain herself for the agony she felt was tremendous. Stumbling forward, Eris fell toward a nearby recliner, her knees buckling and succumbing to weakness. Just as Eris reached out for the chair, unsure that she would make it safely, she heard the door of the fridge close roughly with a clap. 

Seconds away from smashing her head against the armrest of the small recliner, Eris felt an arm wrap around her waist while a hand grabbed her left shoulder. The movement was necessarily jostling, but Eris growled with pain as their supportive hold caused her side to flare with agony. She tried to shove them away, but all it earned her was a soothing shush. 

"That hurts, you imbecile!" she barked.

"Easy now, Moondust," came the quiet apology. "Don't fight me, I'm not tryin' to hurt ya' or nothin'." 

"Why are you in _my_ apartment, Drifter?" Eris asked through gritted teeth. 

"The airlock was open," he cheeked, remembering their conversation on the Derelict. " I had some words for ya' but that can naturally wait." The arm he had wrapped around her waist fell away as he came to firmly grab her right shoulder. "I figured you were gonna' tough this out, but I had a hunch it was worse than ya' let on."

Eris grunted dismissively before shrugging away from him. Turning around, she slumped down into her chair and shot him a critical glare. The Drifter surveyed the jade stare she had especially reserved for him, their beacon-like fluorescence about the only thing he could see of her.

Leaning toward the lamp on the adjacent end table, the rugged vagabond yanked the pull-chain. Instinctively, Eris shielded her eyes with a protective hand as the light overwhelmed her sight. As the intensity died down and she could see again, Eris found the Drifter standing over her with a frown. 

"Whew! You've seen better days," he said aloud. "What took a chunk outta you?"

Eris did not bother to look at her wounds as she said, "A Taken-Thrall. A pest of Darkness." 

"Why don't I take a look-see, hmm?" he said as he knelt. The Drifter reached out for her arm, but Eris grabbed and cradled it toward herself with defensive childishness. "Come on now, why do ya' gotta fight me? Aren't we on the same team?" Begrudgingly, she held it out for him and very carefully, he took the proffered limb into his calloused hands. For several moments, he examined the wound, eyeballing it suspiciously before letting go. "I've seen worse," he surmised as he stood to his feet. "I'll go get the kit."

"Indeed," she agreed. "I just need to sleep. It will go away...with time."

"Don't try to be one of them tough-nuts. It needs to be cleaned," he retorted before walking off to the kitchen. "Besides, you don't have one of them sorry excuses for a ghost to patch ya' up."

Eris flinched unexpectedly at his derogatory speech, a sudden tick growing in her jaw. Was her Brya a "sorry-thing"? Heavens, no. Suddenly, Eris pieced together either a concept of coincidence—or perhaps, of striking parallels—between Nokris' and the Drifter's meanings: sorry-things and tether anchors. Were their ghostly companions truly so terrible?

"Ya' might be able to heal incredibly fast for a human, but yer' ability is...not what it used to be," the rogue expounded, coming back with a small brown bag weighed down by its contents. 

Eris narrowed her eyes, watching him like a hawk. 

"It's a med kit," he reassured dryly. Opening the bag, he lowered it, and allowed her to snoop freely. The moment Eris snubbed her nose at him, the Drifter chuckled and placed the kit on top of the end table. "Are you always this hardheaded?"

"I am not," she bit defensively.

Unconvinced, the Drifter chuckled. "Alright, Moondust." 

"Leave me be," Eris demanded, "this—condition—will remedy itself as long as I rest."

"Will you just shut up, Three-Eyes?!" he commanded firmly. Eris flinched, unbothered by his words but more so his abrupt sharpness. "Lemme patch ya' together—

make ya' right as rain—that way you can get back to ogling yer' shiny tree. Or whatever it is ya’ do best." 

"Ogle?" she asked with an air of confusion.

The Drifter came to kneel beside the table, extracting a cleaning agent, cotton balls, gauze, and a small round silver container from the brown bag. Satisfied that all was in order, he looked to Eris. "It's a newfangled term that Guardians use these days," he explained, "It means—"

"I am well aware of its connotations," she sighed, "but how does one eye a tree provocatively?"

"Hey! With branches and curves like that," he joked, barking with laughter.

Eris palmed her face, shaking her head as she said, "On second thought, I prefer not to know."

"You wholesome-types, ever the killjoys," he muttered cheekily under his breath. "Back to the matter at hand, where should I start first? Yer’ arm or yer’ side?"

"Neither!" Eris argued. "Just leave me in peace."

"That's not an option, Sista," he said while grabbing her wrist. Eris did not bother to resist as she endeavored to endure his uncharacteristic helpfulness as her eyelids swiftly morphed into lead weights. As gently as he could manage, the Drifter removed Eris' gauntlet and rolled back her sleeve revealing the ravaged alabaster skin beneath.

Turning toward the end table, he picked up a small translucent bottle with clear liquid inside and a cotton ball. The fumes were strongly pungent with alcohol causing Eris to wrinkle her nose as the Drifter soaked the absorbent material. Turning back to his impromptu patient, he looked to her hesitantly. 

"This might sting a _little_ ," he lied. 

Eris recoiled slightly as the drenched applicator was pressed against her arm. Rather than saying anything at all, she clenched her hand tightly into a fist as he began his ministrations. After a moment, Eris eased back into the chair satisfied that no ulterior harm was due her as she rested her wearied eyes. Despite the sting of disinfectant in her wounds, or the fact that the vagabond tending to her was in fact the Drifter, Eris was surprisingly pleased by his gentleness. His touches were firm but delicate and not unnecessarily gruff.

"So...," he began, "why didn't ya' tell me The Guardian was involved?" 

Eris didn't bother to open her eyes as she skeptically asked, "What does it matter? Perhaps, quite possibly, it was for the same reasons you had not announced yourself. Self-preservation, am I correct?"

"Trust me," he grunted, brushing past the issue, "it does matter." 

"Why _does_ it matter? His assistance is of great importance to us," she murmured. 

"If ya' say so," the rogue muttered. Just as the Drifter finished cleaning her arm, he placed the spent materials on the table, and grabbed a small silver container. Curious, Eris peeked an eye open and watched him unseal the jar filled with opaque gel. Surmising that the substance was an antiseptic ointment, Eris closed her eye once more.

The rogue scooped up some salve with his fingers and began spreading it over her wounds. As he did this, he fought within himself to speak his mind. At first, the Drifter submitted to the fact that now was not the time nor the place. He had come here intending to help Eris, even if it meant wiggling into her…good graces. However, he was every bit as petty-minded and testy against those who crossed him.

The Drifter did not believe himself to be a short-sided man. On the contrary, he pushed himself to play the long-term game by staying ten leagues ahead of his enemies. So, when he had come to count on The Guardian prodigy, he should have sniffed out the rat forthwith. Nonetheless, he had no one to blame but himself. He got greedy in the sight of personal-profit but no biggy.

Burned once, shame on them.

Burned twice, shame on him.

He would remember this, the Drifter always remembered. 

"I don't think you should be hangin' around folks like him,” the rogue advised, deciding to test the waters with gossip. “Too much of a goody-two-shoes if you ask me." 

"Explain to me something: why do you quarrel so with Roman? What issues require your petty arguments that you should attack and dismantle his character?" she mumbled. "He's loyal—"

"That's the problem, Moondust. He's too straightlaced," he answered rather hurriedly. Frowning, the Gambit-host came into a brief standstill as he realized his hasty error. “Whatever—call me biased if you have to,” the Drifter griped, copping to his resentment. Grabbing a nearby roll of gauze, he unraveled the dressing and began wrapping her forearm. He did this several times, going down and around before eventually tying it off in a knot.

"That Wraith has been brainwashed by the Vanguard since the very beginning,” he spat while testing the wrap’s hold with a gentle tug. “Never botherin’ to think outside the box. He might as well be like one of Shaxx's blasted Redjacks. A programmed frame in _their_ weapons arsenal.” For added measure, the Drifter promptly added, “He has no problem turnin' on people at the drop of a hat. So yeah, I’ve gotta’ few bones to pick with em’."

Eris' eyebrow arched in response to hearing his colorful symbology, a powerful cosmopolitan of truth, bias, and hate. Not quite impressed with his prejudice, Eris took a mental note, nonetheless. Letting it swirl around in her mind, she thought back to a similar discussion she had with Roman not long ago. His criticisms were eerily analogous to the Drifter’s. However, their execution of debating this particular subject were starkly contrasting. It was ultimately telling of their personas, denoting their natures on two opposite sides on the spectrum of morality. 

Light and dark. 

Vanilla and chocolate.

Eris’s stomach growled as she thought of food and cursed her topsy-turvy condition. Had she not been so mangled and emotionally distraught, her thoughts would have been more self-controlled. More…self-aware. Though she was embarrassed of herself, Eris sighed with relief when it appeared that the Drifter had been distracted with his own challenges.

"If that were truly the _case_ ," she offered, "then all the works of his hands would have benefitted him exclusively and privately, I would have counted it as loss.”

Eris was unsure of when she had sat forward and stared down the Drifter, but she came to this dawning realization as her blood came to simmer. When had she become so willingly contrary to defend The Guardian?

“Yet, the fact remains, that I have not,” she continued defensively. “My quest—my cause—all these things has he born upon his shoulders when I could not. He continues to bear fruit and in his own right has become a weapon against my—our—enemies. Crota. Oryx. Hashla—"

"Yeah, yeah. Save yer' breath, Three-Eyes. I don't need to hear yer' fangirlin' over him," he bit warningly, rising slightly to contest Eris’ uppity demeanor. "The problem still remains. The Vanguard has his ear and all the unmanly hair to go with it. He's got ulterior motivations and I reckon they involve keepin' an eye on ya' at _all_ costs.”

Eris’ jade eyes narrowed in response to his insinuations.

What an absurd allusion was he contriving!

“You said it yer'self the other day,” the Drifter pressed, shrugging off his contentious behavior. “The Vanguard don't listen, and Zavala thinks yer' madder than the Hellmouth itself. I’m only pickin’ up what you’ve laid down. And so far, you’ve only managed to fold yer’ hand. What gives?"

Eris stared straight into the Drifter's chaotic pupils, searching for a mote of insight into his internal machinations. For a small moment, Eris almost allowed herself to become lost inside them. There was a subtle and dark charm in their depths, their snake-like quality only beginning to obnoxiously rattle her. There was no use in trying to understand the nameless vagabond, he served none other than himself.

Looking away, Eris went to rubbing at her temples as she feigned ignorance through an artificial headache. She truly was short on time and energy for these confusing introspections, nor was she keen on letting the Drifter piece together her thoughts. "Pray tell, what _exactly_ has The Guardian done to earn such profound scorn? Otherwise, without further explanation, I will no longer suffer your condemnation without due process of reason."

This time it was the Drifter's turn to look away as he went to studying her injured side. "Yer' gonna have to take that armor off," he said dismissing her question. "I can't get to that wound with all—this—on," he gestured flippantly. 

"Excuse me?" Eris balked.

"You heard me," he said with a deadpan expression. "Not like I'm askin' anythin' indecent-like."

Eris glared at him, "One wrong move and I end you."

The Drifter held up his hands, "Scout's honor."

Rolling her eyes with palpable disbelief, Eris leaned forward and began fidgeting with the buckles atop her shoulders. With a little help from the Drifter, which Eris naturally shied away from, she was able to remove her chitinous armor and untie her robes. Tenderly, Eris pulled up the hem of her shirt and revealed the charred laceration at her side.

Leaning in, the rogue squinted at the wound and rolled his eyes. Shaking his head, he said, "And you mean to tell me you were ‘plannin' on sleepin' this off’? Shoot, Moondust. Yer' tough as nails." After a moment, he added, "Are ya' sure ya’ can trust _him_?"

Eris grimaced as she shot back, "Implicitly. Can I trust _you_?"

Sucking in a defeated breath, the Drifter responded with, "Touché!" Grabbing an unused cotton ball, he dabbed it with alcohol and turned to Eris. "Back to yer' earlier question."

"Which one?" she asked, her face contorting with pain. 

The rogue took a moment to respond as he applied the soaked applicator to her side. Eris bit her gloved hand in reaction, groaning as the solution cleaned out the plethora debris within the gash. "The one about my issues with The Guardian. My answer is this: once a snitch, always a snitch. It's just that easy."

"Is _it_?" she whimpered. 

The Drifter leaned back and grabbed for another cotton ball as he discarded the used one. He eyed the new, fluffy applicator with intense scrutiny as if he could see the man of his reproach clearly in its cloud-like texture. "Honestly, I had high hopes for him—too high if you ask me. I got burned. He put me on radars I was already happily flyin' under."

"Is this why you prefer to hideaway, concealed within the Annex’s asylum?" Eris pondered aloud.

“Well, gee. Ya’ don’t gotta make it sound so intense—crazy! That’s the word I’m lookin’ for.” He shrugged, quickly adding, "One could mention the same about you, Moondust. Always lockin’ yer’self away on Luna. Hide’n yer’ face. Not exactly approachable, ya’ know."

“Are you drawing comparison between you and I?” she asked, her eyebrow arching skeptically.

The Drifter said nothing.

The two remained quiet for a time, submitting to a nonverbal ceasefire. Quite frankly, Eris was becoming exhausted by their self-indulgent bickering; sniping at each other’s shortcomings. True to human nature, they were imperfect and had bowed to the whims of life and its intrinsically ethical crusades all too often. Neither of them were above the other, but cut from the same cloth? Eris shivered to divine the reality of this dark rejoinder and prayed it was not so.

As the Drifter came to the end of his patchwork medical operations, he stood to his feet and gathered up the remaining supplies. After collecting them into the brown bag, the vagabond took up the trash and headed toward the kitchen. Eris remained still in her seat as her trio of eyes ached, begging for sweet respite. Even now, she could feel the miasmic ichor flowing freely, no doubt dripping like ink. 

Upon return, the vagabond opened a glass bottle, twisting off its aluminum cap with the skirt of his leather duster. Taking a quick swig, he offered it to Eris. 

"Want some?" he asked.

Eris waved her hand dismissively at him, "No, thank you."

"Suit yer'self, Moondust. Anywho...I'm callin' it a night," he said, while grabbing his medkit.

“Very well,” she murmured.

"Do I need to check on ya' in the mornin' to make sure yer' still breathin'?" he cheeked, walking backwards toward the door.

The drowsy Huntress pushed back in the recliner, reminding herself to speak as she fought off the heavy curtains of sleep. "No. And not a word of this...to anyone."

"To Roman you mean?" he fished coyly.

Eris muttered something indistinguishable, hardly hearing his words as she surrendered to unconsciousness.

All was dark.

All was peaceful.

And for a time, there were no nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Originally when I had started plotting/writing Chapter 6, I thought the long conversation between the Drifter and Eris would take place in that chapter. So I wrote it first since that's what I had vividly pictured at the time. Then the more I kept working at it, the more I realized it didn't fit chapter 6 at all. Purely for the fact that Roman butted in annnnnnnd he had an UwU moment with Eris. Haha! 
> 
> All that to say, I wrote so much it was worth splitting the content into two chapters. @___@


End file.
